A Mind at Work (Ham4HP)
by CinderellaAtTheBall
Summary: Or, roughly 50 one-shots and drabbles written for Hogwarts Challenges & Assignments during the month of July. ALL Hamilton prompts! Wolfstar, Delacour family, Charmione, Drinny, Harry and Dumbledore, Angelina/Oliver, Fremione, Ronmione, Harmony, Dean/Luna, Ginny/Hermione, Dramione, Parvati/Lavender, Lucius/Narcissa, Padma/Cho, Charlie/Harry, Ginny/Harry, etc.
1. i find solace in you (Wolfstar)

**i find solace in you**

_(The Story of Tonight (Reprise): "You are the worst, [Burr].")_

"Moony, I'm bored." Sirius flung himself into a squashy armchair and sighed dramatically.

Remus glanced up from the parchment he was huddled over. "Well, find something to do, then, Sirius. I have to finish this paper."

"What paper? Surely the studious Remus Lupin isn't behind on his schoolwork?"

Remus scrawled another line and sighed before answering. "It's the one for McGonagall on the principles of re-materialization."

"But that's not even due for three weeks!" Sirius yelped.

"Which is precisely why I need to finish it," Remus said briskly. He chewed his lip and reread the last sentence he had written.

"_Why_?"

"With my attendance being so," Remus coughed delicately, "sporadic, the last thing I need is to fall behind." Though he kept his voice patient, his eyes betrayed his annoyance with the other boy.

"You worry too much, Moony, anyone ever tell you that?"

"If you're not going to be quiet, could you please leave?" Remus said heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping against hope that Sirius would take his not-so-subtle hint.

"And leave you all to your lonesome?" Sirius adopted an expression of mock outrage. "What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?"

"The impossible kind?" Remus muttered under his breath.

"Hey!" Sirius whined.

...

A short time later, Remus had sent Sirius down to the library for a book, which resulted in glorious silence for about ten minutes. All too soon, however, his boyfriend was back, and somehow even more annoying than before.

"Moony?"

Remus ignored him to scratch out a line. Sirius began to tap his foot loudly, only stopping when Remus fixed him with an icy glare.

"Moony?" he asked again a minute later.

Remus rolled his eyes and stilled his quill. "Yes, Sirius?"

"How's the paper going?"

"Fine," was Remus' huffed reply. He was never going to finish at this rate.

"Is it really, or are you just saying that?" Sirius pressed.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Remus groaned, shoving the parchment and inkpot away and putting his head in his hands. "You are the _worst_, Sirius. The absolute worst. I don't know why I put up with you."

"Uh, because you love me?" Sirius teased.

"I'm starting to regret that," Remus mumbled.

"_Hey!_"

...

"Moony?" Sirius asked, rubbing at his eyes. Remus jumped; the Gryffindor common room had been empty for quite some time and he hadn't heard Sirius come down the stairs.

"What?" Remus snapped, then immediately felt guilty. Softly, he repeated, "What's up, Pads?"

"You've been up for hours working on that bloody essay," Sirius said, peering at the clock on the wall and wincing. "You should really get some sleep-"

"I'll get some sleep when it's finished. I just need to write this conclusion," Remus said crossly. He consulted a book while Sirius remained silent. Finally, he looked up again to find his boyfriend watching him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Sirius rubbed his jaw. "You look like you need a hug," he said at last.

Remus nodded, blushing slightly. "I wouldn't mind one of those right now," he admitted. He crossed to the other boy and let himself be transported to a place where he was just Remus, and nothing and no one could harm him.

When he pulled away, he felt the exhaustion hit and he stumbled. Sirius caught him and wrapped an arm around his shaky frame.

"Whoa, there," Sirius said softly. "Time for bed, yeah?"

Remus nodded and let Sirius pack away his things with a flick of his wand. The essay could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he would fall asleep in his boyfriend's arms and forget about school, and his condition, and the battle raging on outside the walls of Hogwarts.

* * *

Word count: 621

_A/N: welp, this went from light-hearted to a bit depressing but that's just what came out. Thoughts welcomed! _


	2. The Judgment of Fleur (Delacours)

**The Judgment of Fleur Delacour**

_(The Reynolds Pamphlet: "I love my sister more than anything in this life.")_

_(Meet Me Inside: "I am not a maiden in need of defending. I am grown!")_

Fleur was pacing. Her sister was bringing her boyfriend over to the house for dinner, and she was late. Her sister was never late. Clearly, this boy was a bad influence.

Her _maman_ had tried to get her to relax by pouring her a glass of wine, but Fleur couldn't bring herself to drink it. Her _papa_ was trying to lighten the mood by cracking a few jokes, but she was barely listening.

Finally, the fireplace glowed fluorescent green, and Gabrielle and her boyfriend appeared as Fleur looked on in anticipation. They took a few moments to brush themselves off, then straightened and smiled at Fleur and her parents.

Fleur looked at the boy with unconcealed suspicion. He was handsome, she supposed, in a rather understated sort of way, with light brown hair and an easy smile that accentuated the dimple in his left cheek. She was glad he had worn a suit and tie; that showed he wanted to make a good impression.

Meanwhile, her _maman_ and _papa_ were beaming at the young couple, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that their younger daughter had brought a boy home. It appeared Fleur would have to take the lead and remind them that their guest was not to be trusted just yet.

"'Ow do you do?" she asked politely, stepping forward and extending her hand. "I am Fleur."

Up close, she could see that his eyes were a warm chocolate brown, and his face was creased with laugh lines. Those seemed like positive things. Still, she wasn't going to let her guard down until she knew a little more about him.

"Dennis. Dennis Creevey," the boy grinned, clasping her hand firmly as he shook it. Fleur's eyes widened.

"But you are British!" she exclaimed. Dennis had the good grace to look sheepish.

"Guilty," he chuckled.

"Gabrielle did not tell us zis." She sent her sister a reproving look, and Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"I did not want eet to be a big deal, Fleur." Fleur ignored her sister's sour tone and swept the younger girl into a hug.

"Eet is good to see you," she whispered. _"Je vous ai manqué."_

While Fleur was embracing her sister, Dennis had moved over to Fleur and Gabrielle's parents and introduced himself again.

"We are very pleased to meet you, Dennis," Monsieur Delacour boomed. Madame Delacour nodded her agreement.

"_Enchantée." _She kissed Dennis's and her daughter's cheeks before murmuring something to her husband in lilting French. The two of them then slipped into the kitchen, no doubt to give the young adults some privacy and to finish any last-minute food preparations. Fleur saw an opportunity to interrogate Dennis, and she decided to take it.

"Gabrielle, may I borrow your charming _petit ami_ for a moment?" she asked. Gabrielle narrowed her eyes, but after a quick and silent standoff, during which Dennis was forced to look around awkwardly, she agreed.

Fleur stood and gestured to the hallway outside the living room before exiting. Dennis followed behind her, and she closed the door to give them some privacy.

"I would like to know," she began, "what your intentions are towards Gabrielle."

Dennis looked surprised, and perhaps a bit fearful. "You don't have to worry, I have only the most honorable of intentions, Fleur."

"Why were you late tonight, zen?" she pressed, her mind conjuring up a few rather inappropriate circumstances that might have caused them to be held up.

"Oh, Gabi - Gabrielle - wanted to make sure our outfits coordinated. Said it would be better that way."

Fleur's eyes softened. He called her sister "Gabi" too. Perhaps he wasn't so bad.

"Ah, yes, zat sounds like Gabi," she said with a small smile and a shake of her head. "Always wanting to look ze very best."

Dennis nodded.

"But do not zink I am letting you off so easy," Fleur said suddenly, wagging her finger at him. "I want to make sure that you are not going to 'urt my sister."

"Of course not!" Dennis said, clearly shocked by the idea.

Fleur put her hands on her hips, hoping to appear more intimidating than her slight stature would allow.

"I should 'ope not, for your sake. I love my sister more zan anything een zis life, and I will not let you upset 'er."

Dennis gulped. "Noted."

"Furzermore," Fleur continued, "if you _do_ 'urt 'er, you will be very, _very_ sorry, Mr. Dennis Creevey. I am extremely skilled with a wand and I will _not_ 'esitate to use eet."

"I understand," Dennis said quickly.

"Good." Fleur tossed her hair and smiled widely. "I am glad we are in agreement."

She made to return to the living room, but the door flew open before she could turn the handle.

"Fleur, what is going on here? Eet's time to eat," Gabrielle said. Fleur watched as her sister took in Dennis's frightened face, realization dawning on her features. "Oh, Fleur, you didn't threaten 'im, did you?"

"Only a little," Fleur said, her chin set.

"Why? I am not a maiden in need of defending!" Gabrielle exploded. "I am grown! Or do you forget this?"

"Of course I do not forget!" Fleur sniffed. "You are all grown up now, I notice zis every time I see you. However, you will 'ave to forgive me, I cannot 'elp but think of you as my baby sister still."

"I do not need your protection," Gabrielle insisted. "Let me guess, you threatened to 'ex 'im eef he 'urt me?"

Fleur nodded defiantly. "I would, too. You know zat I would."

"But I do not wish for you to do zat," her sister said hotly. "I grow so tired of this behavior, Fleur. When will you learn that I can take care of myself? And poor Dennis, you 'ave probably scared him off just like all ze others!"

Dennis had been looking back and forth between the two sisters during this exchange, but now he gazed solely at Gabrielle with a look that Fleur could only describe as timid adoration.

"Erm, I don't mind, Gabi, really," he said nervously. "My brother Colin was much the same way. He was fiercely protective of me, too. Fleur was just...looking out for you. She's really very, ah, sweet."

Gabrielle reached out and squeezed his hand. "I am glad zat you understand, but I will be speaking to my sister on zis matter later. For now, let us eat."

"Yes, let's," Dennis said, looking relieved. Fleur thought she heard him mutter, "I lied about her being sweet. She terrifies me," as Gabrielle dragged him away, and she smiled triumphantly, glad to have gotten her point across.

At least he had not run out of the house screaming like her sister's last boyfriend, she mused as she made her way towards the dining room. And he clearly admired Gabrielle. Yes, she had a good feeling about Dennis Creevey.

* * *

Word Count: 1,148


	3. A Date With the Dragon Tamer (Charmione)

**A**** Date With the Dragon Tamer**

_(Helpless: "I'm just saying, if you really loved me, you would share him.")_

_(Cabinet Battle #1: "That's my alcohol!")_

Hermione slapped a couple of Sickles down on the sticky counter of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Two butterbeers, please, Hannah."

"Hermione!" Hannah Abbott grinned, looking her up and down. "Wow, don't you look dressed up."

Hermione blushed. "Too much? Oh, God, I knew it. Where were you when I was getting dressed earlier?" Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and reached behind her for two bottles.

"Relax, 'Mione," she giggled, passing her the drinks. "It's definitely not too much." Her eyes lingered on Hermione's chest a little longer than she felt was necessary, though.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Does Neville know you're down here flirting with the clientele?"

"I only flirt with my friends," Hannah winked. "Anyway," she dropped her voice to a whisper and Hermione had to lean forward to hear her, "who's the lucky guy? Or girl?"

Hermione quickly took a swig from one of the bottles before lowering her voice as well. "Charlie. Charlie Weasley."

Hannah's gasp was almost comical. "Ron's brother? He works with dragons, doesn't he? Ooh, I'll bet he's dreamy."

"You're married, Han!" Hermione said, laughing.

"I'm just saying, if you really loved me, you would share him," Hannah said, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"You are too much. You haven't even gotten a look at him yet," Hermione said, shaking her head. She rested her elbows on the bar and took another gulp of butterbeer, enjoying the warming sensation it brought. "I'm so nervous about this date, Han," she confessed.

Hannah had been wiping down a wine glass but now she paused and gave Hermione a very serious look. "Hermione. You have nothing to be nervous about. If anything, _he_ should be nervous. You're, well, _you_."

Hermione decided not to let on that she found this logic rather amusing and not terribly comforting. Instead, she said, "Well, I just hope he doesn't regret saying yes to this."

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me _you_ asked _him_ out?"

Hermione nodded and launched into the story of how she and Charlie had been penpals for years, sometimes writing each other every night. She explained how they had confided in each other about just about everything. It was easy, she went on to add, to spill her secrets to someone she didn't know very well, but who knew Harry and Ron and could empathize with her. In return, she received incredible tales from his work with dragons, pictures from his travels, and witty banter that kept her on her toes. Finally, Hermione had decided that she wanted to spend time with him, face-to-face, to see if what she was beginning to feel for him was reciprocated.

By the time she was finished, her butterbeer was gone, and Hannah quickly replaced it with a stronger beer, telling her it was on the house.

"It'll help with the nerves, trust me," she said, pressing the bottle into her friend's hands. Hermione tried to pay for it, but Hannah wouldn't hear of it. Just as Hermione was tucking her coin purse away, she heard a deep voice from somewhere behind her.

"Hello, Granger."

She gasped and spun around a little too quickly. The voice belonged to a man who could only be Charlie Weasley. His red hair was shaggy and fell to his shoulders, he had warm, brown eyes, and a series of burns covered his muscular arms. She could see Hannah giving him an approving once-over, too, and stifled the urge to giggle.

"Charlie, hi," she said, her voice strained. She felt a little lightheaded from her twirl and the alcohol, and she wobbled dangerously.

Charlie reached out and steadied her. "Steady there, Granger," he chuckled. Just then, he noticed the extra bottle of butterbeer still sitting in front of Hermione. "Ah, that's my alcohol!" He grabbed it and took a long pull before making a face. "Christ, I forgot how weak this stuff is. Can I have what you're having?"

Hermione nodded slowly, not sure she trusted herself to speak. Now that she had gotten a good look at Ron's second-eldest brother, she wasn't sure what she had been thinking when she had asked him out. There was no denying it; Charlie Weasley was _attractive._ He was effortlessly cool, ruggedly handsome and laid-back. In short, he was everything she was not. Hermione felt the first stirrings of panic awaken within her.

She looked to Hannah for assistance, and luckily, her friend jumped in to help.

"Here you go, Mr. Weasley," she said brightly, handing him a bottle identical to the one Hermione held. Charlie didn't seem surprised that Hannah knew his name. He merely thanked her and paid for his drink before turning back to Hermione.

"Are you okay?" he asked, frowning.

Hermione was now choking down her drink in a desperate attempt to distract herself from Charlie's intense gaze. If she looked into his eyes for too long, it would all be over for her, she just knew it.

"Erm...yes? Why-why wouldn't I be okay?" She couldn't very well tell him that this meeting had been a terrible mistake on her part. Her eyes traveled the length of the bar, taking in the stains of drinks long since cleaned up, before flicking back to Charlie's face when he spoke.

"I dunno, you just seemed a little out of it. You're not regretting this, are you?"

Hermione looked blankly at him. After a moment, she blurted out, "Sorry! Merlin, I'm...you must think I'm a total idiot, I just wasn't really expecting-I mean, I wasn't _expecting_ anything, I just-"

"Hermione," Charlie said calmly, leaning against the bar, "you're nervous, I can see that now. Let's just take it one step at a time here, okay? Baby steps. How are you today?"

"Nervous," Hermione confirmed, taking another small sip of her drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hannah wiping down some more glasses, though Hermione thought it likely that she was only pretending to do so in order to spy on her and Charlie. "How-how are you today?"

"I'm fine," he said, flashing her a bright smile that made her heart beat a little faster. "How's your drink?"

"Not bad," she admitted. "I don't usually drink beer, but this one's pretty good. Do you like it? This beer, I mean? Or...beer in general, I guess? Oh, I don't know." She buried her face in her hands, mortified.

Charlie gently rubbed her shoulder. "Hermione, it's just me, okay? You know me. I'm the same Charlie that wrote to you about failing my Apparation test and sleeping with a stuffed dragon until my third year. You don't have to be embarrassed in front of me."

Slowly, Hermione straightened up and looked at him again. "You're good at this," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're good at making me feel more...comfortable."

He laughed and leaned towards her. "You want to know a secret?" he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. She shivered slightly and nodded. "I'm just doing what I would do with a scared baby dragon."

Hermione snorted, then, abandoning all inhibition, burst into a lengthy bout of laughter that she was certain made her face turn an unattractive shade of red. Charlie didn't seem to mind, however, and grinned indulgently at her.

"That's _brilliant_!" she said breathlessly.

She really liked Charlie. He was so kind and smart and _funny_. Maybe he was completely unlike her, but maybe that was exactly what she needed: someone who could balance out her fear of change, someone who could remind her to go with the flow and not be afraid to be embarrassed sometimes.

She reached out and tentatively took his hand. A pleasant warmth spread through her when he squeezed back reassuringly, although she couldn't be sure if that was the alcohol or something else. All she knew was that she didn't want this date to ever end.

* * *

Word count: 1,316


	4. first impressions (Draco)

**first impressions (mean the most)**

_(The Schuyler Sisters: "Your perfume smells like your daddy's got money.")_

The party was pretty boring, in Draco's opinion. His parents had invited a lot of people, but they were all so _stuffy_. There were hardly any boys around his age, though there were plenty of girls, it seemed.

One girl with bright red hair caught his attention early in the evening. She had a pretty purple dress on. Violet, he thought it was. It reminded him of the fancy dresses his mother wore, with decorative accents like glitter and a big bow in the back. He wondered if he could tell her that he liked it without her thinking that he liked _her_, too. He definitely didn't want that.

He watched her play with Daphne Greengrass for a while before finally summoning the courage to speak to her. He walked up beside her and poked her shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said stiffly, feeling awkward in the full suit his parents had made him wear, "I just wanted to tell you that I like your dress. It's a nice color."

She gazed at him with the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. They were so full of emotion, and so calming to look into.

"Thank you," she said at last. Her voice was bubbly and warm, and Draco decided he liked it much better than any other girls' voices.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Ginny," she said brightly. "Ginny Weasley."

Draco almost recoiled in shock. This girl was a Weasley! His father was always talking about that family, and he never had anything nice to say about them. Still, this girl didn't seem _that_ bad...

A moment later, Draco remembered his manners.

"It's nice to meet you, Ginny. Do you know who I am?" He hoped she did, they were in his house after all.

She sniffed. "Of course I do. _You're_ Draco Malfoy."

Draco was very pleased to find that she did in fact know who he was, and puffed out his chest a little.

"That's right," he drawled. "This is my house you're standing in. It's called Malfoy Manor. So what do you think of the party? The adults aren't much fun, but don't the decorations look great?"

Ginny tilted her head. She looked around at the sparkly silver streamers, the huge, transparent ice sculptures, and the shiny gold balloons, then said the most awful thing Draco could have imagined:

"I suppose they're alright."

Alright? _Alright_? Draco thought he might collapse on the spot. So much time and energy and _money_ had gone into the decorations, and all she had to say was that they were _alright_? She might as well have said they were _ugly. _

Draco decided then and there that he did not like Ginny Weasley very much. Even if she hadn't been a Weasley, he wouldn't have liked her.

"I'll have you know that Mother and Father spent a very large amount of money on this party," he sniffed.

"Good for them," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

Draco huffed. Why wasn't she impressed?

"Well, I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand, Weasley," he said, in the best imitation of his father's sneering tone he could muster at eight years of age. "From what my father's said about you, your family is so poor that you all have to sleep in the same bed!"

Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "That's not true!"

"I'll bet it is," Draco said meanly. "You just don't want to admit it."

She stomped her foot. "You take that back, you-you _jerk_!"

"I won't take back something that's true." And Draco marched off with his nose in the air.

...

Some time later, it had grown dark outside, and the grownups seemed to be getting tired. Draco was tired too. Dobby usually tucked him in at half past eight, and it was now half past nine according to the large grandfather clock in the hallway.

He heard a sniffle somewhere nearby and went off to investigate. He found Ginny sitting on the stairs bawling her eyes out, and immediately felt very uncomfortable. Crying girls were not something he had a lot of experience with, and he didn't like how Ginny's tiny body shook with the force of her tears. It freaked him out.

"Weas-Ginny?" he said cautiously.

She looked up at him and glared before lowering her head into her hands again. Draco looked around. Where were her family members, anyway? Weren't there supposed to be like, fifty of them? Or was _that_ why no one noticed she was gone, because there were so many others to keep track of? He suddenly felt sorry for the little girl in front of him.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," he said, taking a seat beside her. "It wasn't very nice."

"Buzz off, Malfoy," came her muffled reply.

"Fine, be that way." Draco folded his arms. "But I'm not going anywhere."

Ginny raised her head and sniffed.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"Your perfume smells like your daddy's got money," Ginny scoffed.

"First of all, men don't wear perfume, we wear _cologne_," Draco said haughtily. "And second of all, that's a good thing, you nitwit."

"Not when the smell is annoying and won't leave you alone!" she shot back. "Kind of like you, I guess."

She looked rather proud of that insult, and Draco was secretly impressed. He had underestimated her; she wasn't nearly as weak and fragile as he had thought.

"It's not that bad," Draco insisted.

She laughed, and Draco thought she had the best laugh of all the girls he knew. "It is too."

"Draco!" His mother's sharp voice startled him. He quickly stood and waited for her instructions. "There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you. Your father would like you to meet some important guests."

Draco hated meeting his father's friends. They always praised him and said he looked just like his father, and it made Draco feel ill. He tried to think of some way to get out of it, but his mother had turned her attention to Ginny before he could make his excuse.

"You, Weasley," she said, looking down her nose at the girl, "where are those parents of yours?"

Ginny shrank away from the towering woman and shrugged miserably.

"Well, I suggest you go and find them," she said icily. Ginny leapt up at once, and with one last, frightened look at Draco, she disappeared back into the ballroom. Draco turned to his mother.

"That wasn't very nice, Mother."

"I wouldn't have held back if she wasn't just a little girl. What were you thinking, sitting here with her?" his mother snapped, and Draco reeled back.

"I-"

"She's a blood traitor, Draco! The worst kind of Pureblood there is!"

"She was upset!" Draco shouted. "I was just trying to be a gentleman, like you and Father want me to be!"

His mother took several deep breaths. Draco knew that this was her technique for calming herself down so that she wouldn't make a scene.

"Draco," she said tightly, "I understand what you were trying to do, but you cannot show kindness to people like her."

"But she seemed nice!" Draco protested. He didn't often argue with his mother, but he didn't understand what was so bad about Ginny.

His mother's laugh was chilling. "Of course she _seemed_ nice, but her family would have us associate with Mudbloods." She paused, and then added, "I'm disappointed in you, Draco. Your father and I didn't raise you to think her kind are _nice_."

Draco hung his head. "No, Mother."

"She's not like us," his mother whispered, gently stroking his cheek. Draco nodded obediently.

"I understand."

His mother guided him back into the ballroom, where he was forced to listen to his father's friends chatter on and on for what felt like an eternity. He didn't see Ginny or anyone who looked remotely like her, so he figured she and her family must have left. Though he didn't want to admit it, he was disappointed that she had left without saying goodbye.

Finally, at half past ten, he was given permission to go to bed. Dobby dressed him in his pajamas in record time, and he slipped under the covers happily. He thought sleep would come easily, but he stayed awake thinking about Ginny for ages. She had seemed so carefree and kind when he had watched her play with Daphne. Surely she couldn't be as bad as his mother had made her sound...but he couldn't go against his parents' teachings. If she came to any more parties, he would just have to ignore her. It would be better for both of them that way.

Ginny never did come to any more of his parents' parties, and in no time at all, he had all but forgotten about the little redheaded girl with the pretty dress who cried on his stairs. She was hardly more than a passing thought for another four years, in fact, until he and his father came face-to-face with her and her family in Flourish and Blotts.

* * *

Wordcount: 1,504

_A/N: I swear I keep meaning to write drabbles but somehow they keep getting away from me! And I'm not sure how I did writing this from the viewpoint of a kid. I tried to make it sound like a kid was describing some of the things. Also, this feels like the beginning of a longer story...that I don't really feel like writing right now. :p _


	5. Leniency (Harry)

**Leniency**

_(Aaron Burr, Sir: "I may have punched him. It's a blur, sir.")_

Harry sat in Dumbledore's office, Malfoy's taunts ringing in his head. His hands balled into fists as he recalled the words that had spurred him to violence. Looking down, he could see the blood from Malfoy's nose drying on the sleeve of his robes. If only he had gotten a few more hits in...

Dumbledore surveyed him over the rims of his glasses.

"It has come to my attention that you and Mr. Malfoy were involved in some sort of physical altercation. May I ask what happened, exactly? That information would be most helpful."

"I may have punched him. It's a blur, sir," Harry said sheepishly. Dumbledore's penetrating stare was making him regret his impulsiveness.

Dumbledore gazed at him a moment longer, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. Dumbledore's robes matched the blue of his eyes, which gave Harry the distinct impression that he was looking at a particularly large piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

"I see," the headmaster said at last. He leaned forward suddenly. "Harry, do you feel Mr. Malfoy _merited_ such a treatment?"

Harry blinked at him. "Sir? I don't follow."

"Well, I wondered if perhaps there might have been some, ah, extenuating circumstances which led to this… entanglement?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, I would say so, sir." He wondered why Dumbledore wanted to know. Would he let Harry off the hook for fighting if he felt Malfoy deserved what he had gotten too?

"Go on," Dumbledore promoted gently.

"Well, sir, he, er...he called my mother a-a common tramp and said she was probably glad to be d-dead, because it meant it she was rid of me. And he also said my-my dad was a cruel and untalented person who shouldn't have been hailed a hero!" Harry threw in a loud sniff for good measure. If that didn't soften Dumbledore's heart, he didn't know what would.

"I'm sure that must have been very hard to hear," Dumbledore said quietly.

"It was, sir." Harry wondered if he should say something more. "I know what I did was wrong, Professor Dumbledore. It won't happen again."

"Very well," the headmaster said, his expression thoughtful. "As this is your first infraction, and you were clearly provoked, I shall let it slide. However, in the future, Harry, I would suggest you think before you act."

Harry nodded, grateful that he had avoided punishment. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"I will not be so lenient again, Harry. Nor will Professor McGonagall."

"I understand," Harry said earnestly.

Dumbledore's eyes fell on the bloodstain on Harry's sleeve.

"Ah, allow me to take care of that for you," he said, eyes twinkling once more. "We can't have you walking around with blood on your sleeve, whatever would the other students think?" Harry could have sworn the headmaster gave him a knowing wink.

Dumbledore waved his wand and the crimson spot vanished. Harry thanked him, took the Sherbet Lemon he proffered, and left, hurrying to Gryffindor Tower as fast as he could. He couldn't wait to tell Ron all about his first trip to Dumbledore's office.

* * *

Word count: 509


	6. Quidditch Love (AngelinaOliver)

**Quidditch Love**

_(That Would Be Enough: "I'm not afraid. I know who I married.")_

Angelina was sweaty and tired. Oliver had insisted that they move most of their boxes without magic in order to get a workout in. She hoped their new flat had a large bathtub she could soak in after so much heavy lifting.

"Well, we made it," Oliver announced. Angelina decided not to praise God and Merlin and every other deity she could think of out loud. "Welcome to our home for the next six months."

Angelina looked around the sparsely decorated flat and smiled. "It's great. I'm so excited to be here." She was, too. She couldn't wait to start decorating and making the place theirs.

Her husband's brow furrowed as he asked, "Are you sure? I hate that I had to uproot our cozy life in Dorset for...well, this."

Angelina wrapped her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"I'm sure, Ol. This is a huge opportunity for you! It's not every day you get to go on tour."

Oliver sighed, his thumb stroking her cheek as he gazed at her.

"What about you, Ange? This isn't exactly what you signed up for. I mean, starting over in a new place? Aren't you scared?"

Angelina shook her head.

"I'm not afraid," she said reassuringly. "I know who I married. I know that my husband needs to play Quidditch like a fish needs to live in water - he'd die without it. This is only temporary, and I've got Alicia and Katie to lean on if I get too lonely."

Noticing that Oliver didn't seem too convinced, she grabbed his hands and squeezed them.

"Oliver," she said softly, "I knew...I always knew there was a possibility of this happening when I said yes to you. I've had plenty of time to get used to the idea of moving around, I promise."

"I just don't want you to hate me when we have to move again in six months' time." Oliver ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed.

Angelina couldn't help but giggle. "Come on, Ol, you should know by now that I could never hate you." She cupped his face and kissed him again.

"I love you," Oliver murmured.

"I love you too."

After a few minutes of embracing quietly, Oliver pulled away and said, "Well, should we start unpacking?"

Angelina groaned. "Way to ruin the moment, Oliver."

"Just doing what I do best," Oliver winked.

Angelina swatted him. "I take back what I said about never being able to hate you. I hate you _right_ _now_."

"Well, if you hate me, then I guess I can't give you your present," Oliver teased.

"You got me a present?" Angelina squealed.

Oliver nodded.

"Awww, you shouldn't have," she said, her delight fading. "I didn't get you anything."

"Just think of it as a sort of housewarming gift," Oliver said as he walked over to one of the moving boxes clustered by the front door. After rifling through it, he straightened and held out a small box wrapped in plain white paper.

Angelina crossed to him and took it. Whatever was inside made a small clinking noise. Slowly, she pulled off the wrapping and opened the box. Inside was a charm bracelet.

She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Jewelry? That's not exactly your style."

"I suppose not, but you didn't even look at the charms," Oliver pouted.

Angelina held the bracelet up and gasped. There was a charm with the Hogwarts crest, a tiny silver broomstick, and a scarlet Quaffle with the initials AJ and OW on it.

"I'm sure you can figure out the meaning behind all of them," Oliver said.

"Of course," Angelina said, pointing to each charm in turn. "We met at Hogwarts, we both love flying, and those are our initials on the Quaffle. Oh, Oliver, I love it."

"Put it on," Oliver urged. "I want to see how it looks on you."

"You're not the boss of me," she muttered, but she held out her wrist and let him clasp the bracelet around it.

"I thought you could add more charms yourself, you know, to tell more of our story," Oliver said.

"Thank you," she whispered. She brushed her fingers against the charms and grinned. "I guess you're back in my good graces."

"Oh, so does that mean you love me again?" Oliver asked cheekily.

Angelina nodded and kissed him once more.

* * *

Word count: 734


	7. Telling Mrs Weasley (Fremione)

**Telling Mrs. Weasley**

_(That Would Be Enough: "The fact that you're alive is a miracle.")_

"We've got to tell your mum about us sometime, Fred," Hermione sighed, stretching out next to Fred on their big, squashy couch.

He looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. "Which part? The part about us eloping behind her back, or the part about you being up the duff? Because no matter how I look at, it always ends up with Mum screaming at us - well, at _me_."

Hermione snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his chest.

"Frederick Weasley, are you telling me you can't handle a little yelling?"

Fred stroked her hair gently. "Of course I can handle it, love, but I'd much rather just avoid it altogether, you know?"

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, her fingers tracing little shapes onto Fred's shirt.

"Still, I suppose you're right. We've got to tell her eventually," Fred murmured.

"How about we tell her today?" Hermione said eagerly.

"Today? Blimey, Hermione, we should probably think it through a little more-"

"And since when have you ever thought anything through?" Hermione countered, a smile playing at her lips.

"Touché," Fred said, shaking his head. "Fine. We'll tell her after lunch today."

...

"Wow, Mum, that was delicious," Fred said loudly. "The best meal you've ever cooked, I'd say."

"Subtle, Fred," George whispered. "Real subtle."

Hermione merely rolled her eyes and offered to help Mrs. Weasley with cleanup. The older witch shooed her away, however, so she went and sat back down next to Fred, wringing her hands anxiously.

"You don't think she'll be _too_ mad, do you?" she muttered.

"Don't tell me you're backing out now," Fred muttered back. "This was _your_ idea. Now, do you wanna say it or should I?"

Hermione moaned and put her head in her hands.

"Hermione, dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Weasley glanced over from her spot at the sink, concerned.

"Hermione hasn't been feeling well lately," Fred said casually. "I imagine that's on account of the baby."

"The ba-"

Mrs. Weasley cut herself off with an ear-piercing shriek. Hermione whimpered; Ron, George, and Ginny all stared at Fred.

"She's not- Fred, you didn't- did you?" Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands over her mouth.

"It would really be a lot easier to respond if you could finish a sentence, Mum," Fred grinned. Hermione smacked his arm.

"Stop enjoying this so much!" she hissed. Blushing madly, she confirmed, "Yes, I am - well, _we_ are...expecting a child."

George let out a whoop and hugged his twin, Ron suddenly became interested in the surface of the table, and Ginny squeezed Hermione's arm reassuringly. Mrs. Weasley, however, remained both frozen and speechless.

"Cat got your tongue, Mum?" Fred smirked. Hermione shot him a warning look.

"You're-you're not married," Mrs. Weasley sputtered at last. "You're going to have a baby and you're not married!"

"Actually," Fred said, his smirk widening, "we _are_ married." He waved his wand, and his and Hermione's wedding rings appeared on their fingers.

"Ooh, that's really pretty, 'Mione!" Ginny said, admiring hers.

"Thanks," she said weakly.

"Congratulations, Freddie," George said, ruffling Fred's hair.

Ron stood abruptly and left the kitchen. George grimaced and whispered that he would go and talk to him, and then he left too. Only Ginny stayed, holding Hermione's hand for support. The three of them braced themselves for Mrs. Weasley's wrath, but it never came. Instead, the matriarch broke down in sobs.

"Oh, my little F-Freddie is going to be a father! And Hermione, oh, we'll have to go shopping for b-baby clothes! Maybe we can pick up some e-extras for Ginny and Harry-"

"Mum, _I'm_ not pregnant!" Ginny said indignantly.

"No, but it's only a m-matter of t-time, I mean, look at your b-brother," she sniffed. "Oh, I just can't b-believe it!"

With one last sob, she swept from the room, muttering something about plans for a nursery.

Fred smiled triumphantly at Hermione.

"Well, I think that went a lot better than either of us expected, eh?"

"The fact that you're alive is a miracle," Ginny giggled. "I really thought Mum was going to explode for a minute there."

"So did I," Fred and Hermione said in unison, and the three of them collapsed into a fit of laughter that lasted for several minutes.

* * *

Word count: 700

_A/N: I feel like I made Mrs. Weasley really annoying here, but let's be real: I can't see her wanting her kids to have kids without being married first. The wizarding world seems a bit old-fashioned that way. _


	8. The Case of the Moving Goblet (Ronmione)

**The Case of the Moving Goblet**

_(What'd I MIss?: "Where have you been?"/"Uh...France?")_

When Ron arrived home at 5:03 PM one Friday evening, Hermione greeted him at the door with her hands on her hips, her swollen belly clearly visible under her tight green shirt.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"Uh...France?" Ron said sardonically, moving into the entryway of their small flat. "What kind of question is that? I've been at work, woman!"

Hermione was tempted to shriek at him for making fun of her, but she managed to rein it in. Instead, she let out a huff and slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.

"Nice to see you too, Hermione," her husband said pointedly. When Hermione didn't reply, he pulled her to him and kissed her cheek. "What's wrong, love?"

She rubbed her belly and walked into the kitchen, still quiet. Ron followed.

"You're scaring me," he said.

She whirled around and pointed to the ruby-encrusted silver goblet on the counter. Ron tilted his head.

"That's...a goblet."

"Not just _any_ goblet!" Hermione finally exploded, losing her patience. "The goblet from your Great-Aunt Muriel, it was her wedding present to us! Honestly, don't you remember _anything_?"

"Of course I do!" Ron shouted back. "I just don't understand why the hell you're showing me this goblet right now!"

"Because," Hermione said, taking a deep breath, "it keeps _moving_!"

Ron stared at her as though she had just sprouted another head, just as she had feared he would.

"I know it sounds crazy," she said shakily, "but I swear it was on the other side of the counter this morning, and now it's on the complete opposite end."

"Maybe you moved it," Ron suggested. Hermione bristled at this; she would have _remembered_ moving it and she didn't.

"I didn't move it, Ronald," she said, her tone frosty.

"Are you sure?" Ron scratched his neck. "Erm, maybe it's just the pregnancy hormones-"

"Pregnancy hormones do not cause forgetfulness!" Hermione snapped. She knew Ron would try and blame her hormones. It seemed like he always did these days, though Hermione could see why; she was prone to getting upset over things that normally wouldn't bother her, and she was sure it made living with her a bit difficult. Of course, she never realized she was being irrational until _after_ she'd had some time to think about it.

Ron moved to gather her in his arms again, but she pulled away from him.

"I know they don't, I know," he said, "but the fact that you're getting so worked up over this-"

"Who says I'm worked up?" Hermione screeched. Ron sat down heavily in a kitchen chair and put his head in his hands.

After a few tears, a strong cup of tea, and several apologies on her part, Hermione finally calmed down enough to tell Ron the whole story. She had actually removed the goblin-wrought stemware from its usual place in the cupboard above the sink a few days ago, wanting a closer look at it. She had placed it on the end of the counter that was farthest away from the sink to prevent it from getting wet, and had then gone on some errands. When she came back, the goblet was a good foot from where she had left it, but she didn't think too much of it.

The next day, Hermione had moved it to the dining room when she was tidying up the kitchen, only to later find it had returned to the kitchen once more. Ron frowned, but didn't have any idea how it could have moved into another room without either of them remembering that they had moved it. He didn't bring up her fluctuating hormones again, though, much to her relief.

Finally, she explained that she had taken a look at the goblet that morning. She would have put it back in the cupboard when she was done, but she didn't trust herself on a stool in her current state. She went to take a nap, and when she had returned, the goblet was very clearly on the opposite side of the room.

When Hermione had finished detailing the cup's movements, Ron stared at her.

"Hermione," he said slowly, "you don't think it could have been Zibby, do you?"

Zibby was a house elf that did odd jobs for them every now and then. Hermione had actually arranged to have her come in more often after the baby was born - with pay and time off, of course.

Hermione's brow furrowed. Zibby wasn't supposed to start helping out for another month or two, and at any rate, she hadn't seen the elf in several weeks. Surely she would have known if the elf was in their house.

Almost as though he could read her thoughts, Ron said, "Isn't it the mark of a good house elf that they're practically invisible?"

"That's true," Hermione sighed. "Well, there's only one way to know for sure if it was her. Zibby!"

A loud _crack_ resounded and the cheerful elf appeared before them. Hermione was pleased to see that Zibby was still wearing the silky little pastel blue hat she had knitted for her.

"Mister Ron, Miss Hermione," Zibby said politely. She did not bow, for Hermione had kindly asked her not to. "Zibby hopes to find you both well."

"Er, we actually wondered if you might be able to clear something up for us, Zibby," Ron said with a careful look at his wife. She nodded at him to continue. "Have you, er, been here recently?"

Zibby's ears drooped slightly.

"Zibby had hoped Mister Ron and Miss Hermione would not notice," she said sadly.

"It's alright!" Hermione said hastily. "What days have you been here?"

"Every day for the past week, Miss Hermione," the elf replied. Hermione's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe that the elf had been so sneaky. It wasn't as though Zibby was required to announce her presence to them, but Hermione couldn't understand why she had been to their house without telling them.

"Zibby," she said, "why didn't you say anything? Oh, Ron, go get my purse, would you?"

"No, no, Miss Hermione, Zibby does not want paying for her service! Zibby only thought - with Miss Hermione's condition - she only thought she ought to help out a little!" Zibby squeaked.

"So while you were here, did you move that goblet?" Hermione pointed to it.

"Yes, Miss Hermione, Zibby did, but Zibby was very careful for she knows it is a valuable object."

"I know, Zibby, I trust you," Hermione said. Zibby beamed.

"But what else have you been doing while you were here?" Ron asked, looking puzzled. "Hermione said something about tidying up the kitchen, so clearly you were doing something else - ow!" Hermione had jabbed him in the ribs rather hard.

"Ronald!" she hissed. "That's insulting!"

"It's alright, Miss Hermione. Zibby was doing laundry, mostly," she said, addressing Ron. "But Zibby also tidied up a little in other rooms, though not enough to be detected. Zibby did not want Mister Ron and Miss Hermione to notice she had been here, you see."

"But _why_?" Ron pressed.

"Zibby is grateful for the kindness that Mister Ron and Miss Hermione have shown her, and she only wished to pay them back the only way she knows how." Zibby performed a quick, surprisingly graceful bow despite Hermione's protests.

"We're grateful, too, Zibby," Hermione told her. "You are a wonderful friend."

Zibby's eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, Miss Hermione, Zibby has never had a human friend before!" She ran forward and hugged Hermione's leg. Hermione was unable to hug her back due to the fact that she couldn't bend over enough to reach her, so she settled for patting her arm. Zibby hugged Ron's leg, too, and he smiled down at her fondly.

Hermione told Zibby that she could continue to come in and clean if she wanted to, but that she really should be paid for her work. Zibby insisted that she couldn't accept any further wages, and after a bit more pushing on Hermione's part, Ron finally pointed out that it would be better to respect Zibby's wishes than force her to take money she didn't want.

Hermione realized that he was right. If she truly believed that elves were her equals, she needed to consider what they wanted, rather than try to impose her own beliefs on them. She told Zibby this, and the elf was so delighted that she gave her another hug, this time to her other leg, before Disapparating with another loud _crack_.

Hermione looked at Ron. "So, _you_ weren't doing the laundry?"

Ron shook his head and let out a snort.

"Yes, because I've had _so _much free time to do it. You're always finding other things for me to do! I thought you'd been doing it!"

"No, because I thought you'd been doing it!" Hermione cried, ignoring Ron's jab.

Ron laughed and rubbed her belly. "That Zibby is going to make us crazy when the baby comes, I can already tell."

Hermione gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Not if we create a chore chart! That way we'll know what everyone is responsible for." She was already a bit giddy just thinking about it.

Ron groaned. "Oh, great. I can't _wait_."

* * *

Word count: 1,543


	9. i choose you (Harmony)

**i choose you**

_(Ten Duel Commandments: "Can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?")_

"Oh my God, Harry!" Hermione flings open the doors and rushes into the hospital ward, gasping for breath. She ran up three flights of St. Mungo's rickety stairs just to be by his side.

He flashes her a weak smile as he sits up. "I'm fine, Hermione."

She shakes her head. According to the Healers, he's lucky to be alive.

"You're fine now," she says quietly, "but you've only just woken up. I came as soon as I was notified." She doesn't mention how her heart broke to learn that she was listed as his next of kin. He could have listed just about anyone he's close to, like Ron or Mrs. Weasley, but he picked _her. _

Harry winces, and she immediately feels bad about arguing with him.

"I'm sorry," she says, biting her lip. "I was just so, _so_ worried. I thought I might have lost you."

"Come here," he says, holding his arms out. She obliges, sinking into both the hospital mattress and his embrace. He presses his lips to her forehead and she smiles.

She's missed this: the forehead kisses, the warm hugs, his voice. She thought it was all gone forever. Her eyes droop shut, but fly open again when Harry groans.

"Are you okay?" she asks, stroking his hair tenderly. A flash of neon green appears in the corner of her eye; a Healer has poked his head into the room, but he withdraws when he sees the two of them on the bed together.

"I'm an idiot," Harry mumbles. "Can we just...can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?"

Hermione snorts and nods. Harry hasn't quite lost that hard-headed desire to defend his honor, but he's getting better. She's watched him grow so much over the years.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice cuts through her thoughts, and she turns to look at him automatically.

"Yes, love?" She notices his shaking hands and tries to remain calm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I've just been thinking…"

Hermione chokes back a sob. No good conversations ever start with Harry _thinking_.

He takes her hand and continues.

"I know how bad this last duel was. I feel awful for causing you so much anguish, and I also think I'm finally realizing, you know, that I'm not going to live forever."

"What are you saying, Harry?" Hermione tries to pull her hand away, but he grasps it more tightly.

"I'm saying I want to settle down. I want to get married. I...Merlin, I know this isn't romantic at all, but I want to marry you, Hermione, if you'll have me."

Hermione's eyes sparkle with tears as she whispers, "Yes, of course!"

Harry pulls her in for a kiss, and she sighs happily. It doesn't matter that he doesn't have a ring yet, or that the ugly paneling and a portrait of Rutherford Poke are all that bore witness to his proposal. All that matters is that he's alive and he wants to marry her, and her heart has never felt so full.

* * *

Word count: 504

_A/N: of course my first time writing Harry/Hermione is sappy as heck. Of course. _


	10. sublime (DeanLuna)

**sublime**

_(Wait For It: "inimitable")_

_(Satisfied: "You're like me. I'm never satisfied."/"Is that right?")_

Luna sits on a chair on the outskirts of the party, swinging her legs and watching the revelers dance and sing. She likes this spot; it's good for people-watching, unlike her former spot on the other side of the room.

Dean Thomas comes over and nudges her. She scoots over a little and smiles at him when he sits down. Dean has always been nice to her. He once taught her how to make her paintings move with magic. She's long forgotten the spell, but she knows she could ask him again if she wanted to.

For a while the two just sit in silence, taking in the music in their own ways - Luna by swaying and humming, even though she doesn't know the songs; Dean by tapping his fingers and, occasionally, his foot.

Luna stares at his fingers unabashedly. They're long and thin, and covered with an artist's callouses. She finds them beautiful. In fact, she finds _him_ beautiful. His skin is the color of toffee, his eyelashes thick and long. She considers, for a moment, what it would be like to paint him. Could she even capture every salient detail?

Finally, Dean speaks.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Luna assesses him again, and decides he doesn't mean those words the way another man might.

"Sure," she says with a smile.

...

Dean takes her to a park near his flat and they huddle together on a bench. As the light fades, several families enjoy the playground and grassy clearings. Luna leans into her companion and admires the coarse texture of his hair.

"May I?" she asks, stretching a hand toward his head. He nods, and she lets her fingers roam freely through his locks. His eyes are soon closed, and a carefree expression settles onto his features. He has never looked so paintable.

"Inimitable," he murmurs. She tilts her head.

"What is?"

"You," he says simply, and Luna knows that if his eyes were open, he would see the blush staining her cheeks. She isn't sure how to respond, but Dean doesn't seem to be expecting her to say anything. His eyes remain closed and his breath gradually evens out.

Luna drinks in his angelic appearance; the way his lips turn up slightly as if he's concealing a secret smile, his sharp cheekbones, the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest. If she squints hard enough, she even thinks she can see an ethereal white glow around him. He seems to smell faintly of oranges, too, and she fills her nostrils with the pleasing scent.

She isn't sure how long they've been sitting there, but at some point, she drifts off, and when she wakes, night has fallen and darkness has pervaded every corner of the park.

Dean opens his eyes a moment later and starts.

"We should get going."

Luna nods. She doesn't ask where they're going. She trusts him completely.

...

Dean's flat is neat and orderly. Luna is disappointed by this, but then he throws open the door to his spare-bedroom-turned-studio and suddenly it all makes sense. The chaos is contained in here, in this tiny room with only one window.

Her eyes sweep over tubes of paint, pastels, and sticks of charcoal, searching for the artwork these materials have wrought. She sees more half-finished paintings and sketches than she can count, however, and this is somehow reassuring to her.

"You're like me," she says lightly, nodding at the incomplete works. "I'm never satisfied."

"Is that right?" Dean asks quietly, his fingers brushing against hers.

"I could never be satisfied," she answers, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "None of my artwork is ever truly finished so long as I am around to make changes to it."

"I feel the same way," he whispers, and suddenly, his fingers - his long, beautiful fingers - are entwined with hers. Luna's breath hitches, and she tries to think of something, anything, to say.

"Did you know you have beautiful fingers?" she tells him. To anyone else, this would seem like another one of her bizarre statements, but she knows Dean will see it for the compliment it is.

His eyes widen slightly when he's delighted; she figured that out some time ago. They've widened now, and he lets out a low, canorous chuckle.

"I do now," he says softly. He presses his lips against hers in a gentle kiss, and it is sublime.

* * *

Word count: 738

_A/N: extended the quote from "Satisfied" here (although the added part has been modified). :)_


	11. Of Plots and Playing Pretend (Ginmione)

**Of Plots and Playing Pretend**

_(Guns and Ships: "practical tactical brilliance")_

_(Stay Alive: "Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?")_

_(The Schuyler Sisters: "revelation")_

_i. practical_

Hermione found Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, pieces of parchment and several thick tomes spread out around her on a table.

"There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you," she said, her hands firmly on her hips.

The fourth year glanced up from her work briefly. "What's going on, 'Mione?"

Hermione looked around carefully to make sure no nosy classmates would overhear what she was about to say.

"I was wondering if...you might be able to help me with something."

Ginny put down her quill and frowned. "I'm nowhere near as clever as you, but I'll try."

"It's not school-related," Hermione was quick to explain. "It's, er... Ineedyoutopretendtodateme."

Ginny scratched her head. "I'm going to need you to repeat that a little slower."

"I need you to pretend to date me," Hermione repeated, her face heating up more and more with every word. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. Ginny looked intrigued, however. She pushed her schoolwork to the side and patted the seat next to her.

"Explain," she ordered.

Hermione sat and launched into her story: that Zacharias Smith had been showing an unusual interest in her and that she _might_ have panicked and told him she was gay. After some thought, she had realized that he would probably be expecting proof of some kind.

"_Merlin_, Hermione," Ginny clucked, "for someone so smart, you really need to learn to think before you speak."

"I panicked, okay? You know Smith, he'll hump anything that moves," Hermione shuddered.

"The guy would make a house elf want to give themselves a sock for freedom," Ginny agreed, laughing. "He's such a prat."

Hermione moaned and rested her head on the table. Suddenly, she felt an arm circle around her waist and she jerked upright. "Gin, what are you-"

"I thought you wanted me to pretend to be your girlfriend," Ginny murmured, leaning over and kissing her cheek. She was so close that Hermione found herself mesmerized by the gold flecks in Ginny's warm brown eyes.

"Well, yes, but I-I didn't realize you were going to start _right now_, I thought we'd, I don't know, talk about it or something-"

"No time like the present," Ginny purred. "Look, here come Harry and Ron now. You can fill them in on your new relationship status."

Needless to say, Harry and Ron were quite taken aback by the sight of Ginny nibbling on Hermione's earlobe in the middle of the common room. Ron demanded an explanation immediately, while Harry turned bright red and refused to look at either of them.

"Er, Ron, we should really give them some privacy," he muttered, trying to tug his friend away.

"If they wanted privacy, then maybe they should have gone up to the girl's dorm where no one would see them!" Ron shouted. People were beginning to stare. Hermione shrank down in her seat and wished she could disappear as Ginny yelled back at her brother, effectively announcing to him and the rest of the Gryffindors present that she and Hermione were dating.

Harry gave her a pitying look.

"Want to get out of here?"

"Yes," she said gratefully, grabbing her bag and bolting out of the portrait hole behind him. She would have to fill him in on what was going on during a long walk far from Gryffindor Tower.

...

_ii. tactical_

Word traveled quickly; soon everyone in the castle seemed to know that Hermione and Ginny were dating. It was easy enough to keep up the charade; they sat together at meals, held hands on occasion, and once or twice found themselves kissing each other when particularly skeptical students walked by.

Hermione had thought it would be awkward to pretend to date one of her close friends, and a girl at that. It really didn't feel like much had changed in their relationship, however, except that now they were a bit more physically involved. Indeed, Hermione had never before noticed how _beautiful_ Ginny was; the redhead had a light smattering of freckles that she could only see when she leaned in to kiss her, her fiery hair gleamed in the sun, and she had a smile so bright that it made Hermione's heart pound a little faster whenever it was directed at her.

Zacharias Smith himself came by the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall a few days after the news of her relationship broke. Hermione and Ginny were sitting next to each other, eating their dinner and whispering back and forth - they were only discussing a Potions assignment that Ginny was struggling with, but they had decided that whispering fed into the image of their so-called relationship. Smith sauntered over, his curly blonde hair mussed, and smirked at the two girls.

"Ladies," he drawled. "I hear you two are an item now."

Hermione looked at Ginny. "That's right," Ginny confirmed, tossing her hair.

"Pity," he said, staring hard at Hermione, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I thought for sure you were straight, Granger."

"Whatever gave you that idea, Smith?" she asked coolly. She turned her attention back to her plate in the hopes that he might get the message and leave.

"Well," Smith slid into the seat next to her and continued to watch her carefully, "everyone thought you and Weasley's brother were..._you know_." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Bugger off, Smith," Harry glared from the other side of the table. Hermione was grateful that he had jumped in. Ron hadn't exactly clamored to her defense, she noted. Not that she could blame him.

She aggressively speared a piece of chicken onto her fork and decided not to respond to the nosy Hufflepuff. Ginny, on the other hand, cheerfully replied, "Nah, Hermione and Ron fight too much to ever be more than friends. Besides, Hermione's as gay as...well, she's just really gay, okay? That's all you need to know."

"Really? Then why doesn't she tell me that herself?" Smith folded his arms. Hermione turned and glared at him, the effect no doubt lessened by the fact that she was chewing while she did so. She swallowed and dabbed at her mouth before responding.

"Maybe because I don't need to prove anything to you?" she huffed. Smith was making her nervous. She hadn't counted on him questioning her "relationship" so much.

"Of course not," Smith said pleasantly. "I just find this whole situation a bit hard to believe, that's all."

Hermione went back to attacking her chicken. "I don't really care what you think. I'm dating Ginny and that's that."

"So you keep saying," Smith said with a look so smug Hermione wished she could hex it clean off his face.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Look, you clearly don't believe her, so how 'bout we give you some proof?"

Smith raised an eyebrow. Hermione couldn't help but notice that he looked decidedly more interested, even predatory, now. "Yes, why don't you?"

Ginny tucked a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear to give her some advance warning of what was to come. She then pulled her in for a kiss, but unlike the previous kisses they had shared, this one involved her tongue. Hermione could feel it probing her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to give it access. She had never Frenched anyone before - she and Viktor had only given each other chaste little kisses on the lips - but she had always been curious about it, and she found she quite enjoyed it.

She could feel Ginny's hands cupping her face, then slowly moving to her hair, where they tangled themselves in her curls. She moaned slightly, forgetting that she was in the Great Hall in front of her fellow classmates and professors. Elsewhere in the hall, someone let out a low whistle.

After what felt like an eternity but in reality could have only been half a minute or so, Hermione broke the kiss, gasping for breath. She hesitantly looked over at Smith and found that his mouth was hanging open. As a matter of fact, the rest of the Gryffindor table looked rather shocked too. Ron looked like he had just been told he had been made Minister of Magic and Harry, who knew about Hermione's plan, had evidently been so surprised that he had spilled pumpkin juice on his robes.

"Well?" Hermione smirked. "Did that convince you?" Smith merely continued to gape at her and Ginny.

Ginny leaned over and whispered, "Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this? Because he looks like he's just been petrified." Hermione chuckled.

"He does, doesn't he?" she whispered back, boldly reaching for Ginny's hand. Ginny's eyes widened as she looked down at their entwined hands. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that after their vigorous snog. Hermione's heart pounded wildly. Maybe taking Ginny's hand had been too much. But then Ginny squeezed her hand and smiled at her, and Hermione felt her stomach turn over.

At long last, Smith cleared his throat, looking back and forth between the two. "Well. That was... enlightening. Sorry I ever doubted you, Granger." He walked back to the Hufflepuff table, his usual confidence gone. He looked completely and utterly deflated, and Hermione savored the sight.

"Well," she said, turning back to Ginny, "I think that kiss deserves a thank you."

"It was no-"

Ginny never finished her sentence, for Hermione had scooted closer and pressed their lips together again.

...

_iii. brilliance_

"Well, dinner certainly was interesting tonight," Ginny commented later that evening.

She and Hermione had snuck up to the Astronomy Tower to stare up at the stars and talk. The moon was almost full and provided a good deal of light to see by. The air was humid, but there was enough of a breeze passing through the tower to keep Hermione from sweating too much. For a while, they took turns looking through a telescope, admiring the way the milk white stars contrasted with the dark sky. Hermione pointed out several constellations while Ginny listened intently. She wondered if this felt as romantic to the redhead as it did to her.

"Ginny," she said at last, moving away from the telescope and wrapping her arms around herself. "I think we should talk."

"Yes, I agree," Ginny said immediately, "because I need to know something. What are we, Hermione?" Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. She had been dreading that question.

"I don't know," she confessed, twisting her hands together. "This was all just supposed to be for show but I...I think I like you."

Ginny's expression was hopeful. "So that kiss - those _kisses_ \- at dinner...those were real?"

Hermione nodded shyly. The two girls stared at each other for a moment, and then Ginny let out a weak laugh.

"Thank Merlin," she whispered. Hermione looked at her in surprise, and Ginny rolled her eyes. "I've fancied you for ages, 'Mione. You never noticed?"

Hermione blushed. "No, I suppose I didn't."

Ginny took a few steps towards her. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the light of the moon, and Hermione could just make out the dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

"I'm not surprised. You're terribly clever, but your observational skills are occasionally a bit off."

"Hey!" Hermione protested. Her heart beat a little faster at Ginny's proximity.

"Besides," Ginny continued, ignoring her outburst, "you probably didn't realize you liked girls, or at least, this girl in particular."

Hermione shook her head. "No, that was quite a revelation for me. I guess I'd just never...never thought about it, really. Maybe I never would have if you hadn't agreed to date me."

"_Fake_ date you," Ginny corrected with a small smile. "Although," her smile widened, "maybe we could date for real now?"

Hermione laughed. "I think we could do that, yes."

Ginny smiled and leaned in to kiss her. This time, it was Hermione who deepened the kiss and threaded her fingers through Ginny's fine hair. Ginny pressed herself closer and whimpered. Hermione could feel her legs growing weak, so she backed herself against one of the tower walls for support as she continued to make out with her newly minted _actual_ girlfriend.

It briefly crossed her mind that snogging in the Astronomy Tower was rather cliché, but she decided she didn't care. Her new relationship was an intense brightness in an otherwise dark future. As long as she had Ginny, she knew she could get through it.

* * *

Word count: 2,073

_A/N: I'm not sure if I did a clear enough job with this, but each heading relates to the material in some way - part 1 ("practical") is about Hermione establishing a practical (I guess, lol) solution to her problem, part 2 ("tactical") involves the steps she takes to execute her plan, and part 3 ("brilliance") is supposed to show how her new relationship brings a kind of brilliance to her life. On an unrelated note, I have no idea what the Hermione/Ginny ship name is, but I put "Ginmione" because that made sense to me. _


	12. The Time of Her Life (Patil twins)

**The Time of Her Life**

_(The Election of 1800: "At least they know I know where France is.")_

Padma Patil tapped her foot to the music and glared at Ron. She had been so excited to have a date for the Yule Ball, even if Ron Weasley wasn't exactly her first choice. But she had been sitting at his side for half an hour while he positively _moped_ over Hermione Granger, and that wasn't at _all_ how she foresaw the evening going. Despite her attempts to engage him—she had tried jangling her bracelets and clearing her throat several times—he was much too busy conversing with Harry Potter to notice.

At least Parvati seemed to be having fun. Harry had all but ditched Padma's outgoing sister as well, but she had managed to find a Beauxbatons boy to dance with her. Padma watched wistfully as her twin shrieked and giggled, her plait swinging and golden bracelets glinting as she spun around wildly.

"Padma!" Parvati had appeared at her elbow without her noticing. "Come dance, come on!"

"No, thank you," Padma said with a shake of her head. "I don't want to ruin your fun."

"But you wouldn't be! Besides, Pierre's got a friend for you to dance with, if that's what you're worried about."

Padma sighed. "Parvati, I really don't think—"

"Padma," Parvati whined. "You have been talking about this ball for ages, and now you're going to just let it pass you by without even _trying_ to have a good time? I don't think so. You're coming with me." Parvati had always been very persuasive, and even now, she grinned as though she already knew what Padma was going to say next.

"Fine."

"Yes!" Parvati pumped her fist, then grabbed Padma's hand. "Let's go find Pierre and the others." She proceeded to drag Padma across the dance floor.

"Their English isn't great, but it doesn't really matter," she said over her shoulder. "At least they know I know where France is. I _think_ so, anyway—it took a lot of gesturing to even get to that point! Mostly we've just been dancing, though."

"I saw," Padma said dryly. They had reached Pierre, the fair-haired Beauxbatons boy with whom Parvati had been dancing the night away.

"Parvati!" he exclaimed. "Your sister is _très jolie_!" He and Parvati proceeded to throw their hands in the air and shimmy their shoulders as a new Weird Sisters song started up.

"Come on, Padma, _dance_!" Parvati said imploringly. Pierre snapped his fingers and another boy appeared at his side.

"Zis is Michel," he announced, gesturing to the brown-haired boy. "Now, you dance."

Padma opened her mouth to thank him but he and Parvati had vanished in a blur of pale gold and bright pink. She blinked, then looked awkwardly at Michel.

"Sorry about that," she said. "You can go dance with your friends if you want." She tried to mime this to him.

"_Non_, _non_, is no problem," he said with a luminous smile.

And it wasn't, really. Padma didn't fancy herself a good dancer by any means, but Michel didn't seem to mind. The two of them cavorted and laughed until they were sweaty and out of breath, at which point Padma offered to go get drinks. As she crossed to the drinks table, she spotted Parvati and Pierre and waved happily to them. She would have to thank her twin later for turning her night around.

* * *

Word count: 557


	13. Trickery (mostly Trio)

_Warning for manipulative behavior. _

* * *

**Trickery**

_(You'll Be Back: "You'll remember you belong to me.")_

Hermione eats her breakfast slowly, waiting for the daily swarm of owls to enter the Great Hall. It isn't until she has taken a final sip of pumpkin juice that they arrive, flooding the hall with hoots and the sound of wings flapping. A huge barn owl lands in front of her, nearly knocking over her empty goblet.

"What's that, Hermione?" Ron asks, nodding at the letter she is untying from the bird's leg.

"A letter from Viktor," she responds with what she hopes is a credible dose of nonchalance. She opens the missile, pretends to read it, and lets out a practiced gasp - the one she has been perfecting for almost a week.

"What is it?" Harry demands, craning to read over her shoulder. She pushes the parchment towards him and he quickly scans it. His brow furrows. "What the hell?"

"Let me see it!" Ron grabs the parchment and speed-reads it as well, his ears and face slowly turning red. "Who does he think he is?"

Hermione opts for a contrite look. "I probably overreacted. I'm sure he didn't mean it that way, he-"

"'Didn't mean it that way'?" Harry repeats. He shoves his glasses further up onto his nose and stares at her incredulously. "You saw what he wrote!"

"'You'll remember you belong to me,'" Ron reads from the letter, his voice dripping with disgust. He looks up at Hermione. "Who _says_ that?"

"You know Viktor's English isn't that good!" Hermione cries, her eyes wide. "He probably got some help translating what he wanted to say and it came out wrong. That's all."

Ron and Harry exchange a look that says they clearly don't believe her. Ron proceeds to stab a piece of sausage with vigor, while Harry goes so far as to put his hand on her arm, his expression concerned.

"Hermione, if he's ever abused you or anything, you'd let us know, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, honestly, Harry," Hermione huffs, wrenching her arm from Harry's grasp,"I can take care of myself. Now, if you don't mind, I have to get to-"

"The library," Ron finishes, and Hermione smiles at how predictable he thinks she is. She isn't going to the library at all, but she isn't about to correct him.

At the hall's oaken doors, she looks back to see her friends have put their heads together, no doubt to discuss Viktor's supposedly possessive behavior - just as she wanted. Now, they will be so focused on that "relationship" that they won't even notice her real one. She hopes they don't try and send Viktor any hate mail, though. The poor boy doesn't deserve that.

"Looks like your little stunt went as planned," a voice drawls in her ear, and she turns to smile at Draco Malfoy.

"Yes," she says, leaning in to kiss him. "I would certainly say so."

* * *

Word count: 474

_A/N: Gah, Hogwarts-era Dramione is so weird to me now. This was supposed to kind of rectify that a little, but I'm not sure that it did. Bleh. _


	14. The McGonagall Reports (Albus & Minerva)

Inspired by _Deathly Hallows, _Chapter 33, when Dumbledore tells Snape that Harry's other teachers have found him "modest, likeable, and reasonably talented."

* * *

**The McGonagall Reports**

_(Say No to This: "I wish I could say that was the last time.")_

_September 1991_

"The boy is much too thin, Albus," Minerva said without preamble, the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. She stood in the elegant Headmaster's office, waiting for Dumbledore to speak. In a corner, Fawkes the phoenix groomed himself.

Dumbledore looked at her thoughtfully. "I have no doubt Harry takes after his parents in that regard, Minerva."

"Yes, but I don't suppose those Muggles you left him with bothered to feed him much, either!"

"My dear Minerva," Dumbledore said calmly, "let us not dwell on that now. You have, I believe, a report for me?"

Minerva inclined her head. "Yes. You asked me to keep an eye on Mr. Potter?"

"You and the other professors, correct," the headmaster confirmed. "Every one of you will be reporting to me over the course of the year. I would check in with him myself, but I find this method less... intrusive."

Minerva cleared her throat. "The boy seems to be adjusting well thus far. Gryffindor House suits him nicely, I think. He has already befriended the youngest Weasley boy, whom I suspect may be one of his first real friends."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "Yes, he and the young Mr. Weasley are quite the pair, it would seem."

...

_October 1991_

Minerva paced the floors of the Headmaster's office, agitated. Fawkes watched her with interest, his head swiveling back and forth as she roamed the room.

"There was a troll, Albus! The boy could have been killed! _Killed_!"

"But he wasn't, Minerva," the headmaster said in the tired voice of someone who had already had this conversation several times before. "He and Mr. Ronald Weasley showed extraordinary courage."

"Be that as it may, Albus, perhaps someone should keep an eye on him-"

"Harry deserves some privacy," Dumbledore interrupted. "He's only a boy, and a famous one at that. Goodness knows he doesn't get enough privacy as it is."

Minerva looked aghast. "I hardly think _privacy_ can be our main concern when the boy's life could be at risk!"

"Minerva, I am asking you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Minerva adjusted her glasses and stared at Dumbledore. She opened her mouth to say something more, then closed it abruptly and nodded.

"Good. Now, would you care for a Sherbet Lemon?"

...

_November 1991_

"I do believe we got a little sidetracked last month, what with the excitement of that troll," Dumbledore said, smiling at Minerva. She did not smile back.

"I'm worried about the boy, Albus," she said quietly, pacing in front of his desk. "I have no desire to remove him from the Quidditch team, but after that match..."

She trailed off, then looked bravely at him. "Do you have any idea who could have done such a thing? Who would have been _able_ to do such a thing?"

"Oh, I have ideas, certainly, but one must be sure before one runs around making serious accusations, you know. Anyway, we are here to discuss Harry, not whomever may - or may not - have jinxed his broom."

"But, Albus," Minerva began. Dumbledore cut her off with a raised hand.

"As much as I admire your protectiveness where Harry is concerned, Minerva, I really must insist that you let the matter drop. Rest assured, I will attend the next match myself to ensure that Harry is not in any further danger."

Minerva nodded, relieved. "Very well, then. Mr. Potter continues to do well enough in my class, though his wand work and concentration are still a little shaky. It would also seem the boy has befriended the talented Miss Granger, who is no doubt a good influence on him."

"Ah, yes, how wonderful!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together, looking positively delighted. Minerva appeared slightly startled by this outburst, but quickly recovered.

"Indeed. As to his personality, Mr. Potter remains quite modest in spite of his fame."

"Excellent, excellent," Dumbledore murmured. "You have been most helpful, Minerva. My sincerest thanks."

...

_December 1991_

"The boy is allowed to stay at school over the holidays, then, Albus?" Minerva asked as she strode into Dumbledore's office. Fawkes looked up at her arrival, then went back to sleep.

"I don't see why not," Dumbledore replied, regarding her over his half-moon spectacles, his hands steepled.

"Good," she said briskly, "because I've just been around with the signup sheet and he signed up practically before I could finish telling him what it was for! I for one am most relieved that he won't be staying with those horrible relatives of his. The Weasleys are remaining here as well, so he shall be in good company."

"Ah, yes, I daresay he will be," Dumbledore said, smiling. "And how is he getting on in your class, Minerva?"

"I have seen marked improvement these last few weeks. I think it likely Miss Granger has been assisting him."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am delighted to hear it."

"I admit, I was worried about how the cursed broomstick debacle might have affected him, but Mr. Wood tells me he continues to train vigorously."

"I myself was worried about the same thing, but it would seem that his friends are proving themselves quite beneficial to Harry's well-being. Friendship is a powerful thing, Minerva. Do not underestimate it."

Minerva shifted uncomfortably under Dumbledore's keen gaze. "Very well, Albus. If that is all..."

"I'm afraid I must make one last request of you before you take leave of my office, Minerva," Dumbledore said cheerfully.

"Of course." She looked questioningly at him.

He pulled a Christmas cracker from the depths of his robes and held it out to her. "You must pull one of these open with me."

...

_January 1992_

"I trust you had a good holiday, Minerva?" Dumbledore sat at his desk, twiddling his fingers.

"Two weeks free of the Weasley twins? I'd call that paradise," she replied dryly. "And yours?"

"Most excellent, thank you. And I must say, I am quite looking forward to Gryffindor's next Quidditch match."

Minerva visibly stiffened. "You don't think whoever was responsible for cursing Mr. Potter the first time will try again, do you, Albus?"

"I do not think it likely, but one can never be too sure," Dumbledore said lightly.

"It would be very foolish of them to do so with you present," Minerva said, shaking her head.

"The beautiful thing about people is that sometimes they are entirely too foolish for their own good, Minerva."

"If you say so," she said, doubt creeping into her voice. "I trust you would rather hear my latest report on Mr. Potter than continue to discuss the folly of man, however."

"Oh, no, I think you'll find I am always interested in discussing that topic," Dumbledore said, smiling, "but by all means, continue. I am, as always, eager to hear how young Harry is getting on."

...

_February 1992_

"It isn't like you to run late, Albus," Minerva said as she entered, a touch of reproach in her voice. She had been waiting outside his office for nearly a quarter of an hour.

"I know. I'm sorry I made you wait," Dumbledore said, carefully shutting his Pensieve away. "I was, ah, plagued by one too many _thoughts_."

"I see," Minerva said, though she didn't look enlightened at all.

"Anyway," Dumbledore said, waving his hand, "please fill me in on what Harry has been up to."

"His wand work is steadily improving, and his concentration is getting better as well," Minerva replied, the hint of a smile on her face.

Dumbledore must have noticed, for he said, "You must be very proud."

"Oh, I don't know how much I had to do with that," Minerva said, flustered.

"Nonsense, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. You are, in my humble opinion, one of the most magnificent teachers Hogwarts has ever seen."

Minerva blushed. "Yes, well, you always did have a rather high opinion of me, Albus."

"Given your credentials, I would have been remiss not to," Dumbledore said, smiling fondly at her. "You were winner of Transfiguration Today's Most Promising Newcomer Award before you had even graduated!"

"Now, now, Albus. You didn't call me here to rehash the accomplishments of my Hogwarts days, did you?" Minerva said in a tone that could almost be considered teasing.

Dumbledore laughed. "I suppose I didn't, but it is always a joy to revisit the past with a dear friend. I could never turn down such an opportunity."

...

_March 1992_

"Mr. Potter has been rather less engaged in my classes recently," Minerva said, frowning at Dumbledore.

"Interesting," he said, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "His other teachers have reported similar behavior."

"It's almost as though he's worried about something," Minerva mused. "Though I have no idea what that something might be. You don't suppose he's found out about the Stone, Albus?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "That is highly unlikely. Even if he has seen the dog, he would have no way of determining what lies beyond it."

"I suppose you're right," Minerva sighed, "but I'm not sure how else to explain his sudden dip in performance. He had been doing so well."

"When you have been teaching for as long as I have, my dear Minerva, you will learn that children find a good many things to worry about, even things that might seem silly to you or I."

Minerva stared at Fawkes for a moment. The phoenix was clearly nearing one of his Burning Days, as he was looking mournful and decrepit. "Well, I shall continue to keep an eye on him, see if I can't figure out what is troubling him," she said at last.

"That would be wonderful, thank you."

...

_April 1992_

"Unbelievable!" Minerva ranted, traversing Dumbledore's office in a now familiar pattern while Fawkes' beady eyes followed her once more. "Three Gryffindor students out of bed in the middle of the night! I thought we'd have no problems with this group of first years, but apparently I was quite mistaken!"

"It rather makes you think of a certain other group of Gryffindor students who were caught out of bed in the middle of the night a few times, doesn't it?" the headmaster said, looking amused.

"Yes, and they were trouble enough, Albus!" Minerva snapped. "I'm glad one of us finds this situation comical!"

"I know you were glad to see Harry's father and his friends graduate," Dumbledore chuckled, "but these are hardly the same sorts of students as they. Why, Miss Granger does not strike me as the sort to break the rules, let alone break them repeatedly."

"You can imagine my shock when I found out _she_ had been involved!" Minerva exclaimed. "But I suppose you're right, it is unlikely she will be involved in any further trouble."

"Mr. Longbottom has no doubt learned his lesson as well, Minerva," Dumbledore added pointedly, and she slowed to a stop.

"And Mr. Potter?" she asked, sounding as though she was afraid of his answer.

"Now, Harry...he has a natural curiosity that may lead him into trouble, and I confess he may also be a little more prone to recklessness than Miss Granger or Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said with a chuckle.

Minerva stifled a groan. "I'm getting entirely too old for this," she muttered.

...

_May 1992_

Minerva looked at her watch. "Mr. Potter and his friends will be serving their detentions in just a few hours' time." She sounded worried.

"Hagrid will keep a close eye on them," Dumbledore said firmly.

"Yes, but Hagrid may not..." Minerva struggled to word her fears carefully. "I have no doubt he'll do his best to look after them, but we both know he enjoys dangerous creatures far more than the average wizard, Albus."

"Does he?" Dumbledore asked mildly, stroking Fawkes' head. "I wonder how much the average wizard enjoys dangerous creatures, then." His tone indicated that he would very much enjoy a discussion on the matter.

Minerva hastily changed course. "Mr. Potter has been working quite hard these past few weeks. I believe I was correct in thinking Miss Granger would be a good influence on him. I suppose the outrage over losing so many points for Gryffindor might have played a role in that, too. No doubt he wants to keep his head down."

"As always, Minerva, your observations are most astute," Dumbledore said, standing to pat her arm. "With the school year nearly over, I must thank you once again for these monthly reviews. It has been an honor to follow Harry's progress through his first year."

...

_June 1992_

Minerva looked around Dumbledore's office. The usually neat, orderly desk was in chaos; she could see several crumpled rolls of parchment, a letter, and assorted paperwork all lying askew on its surface. In addition, a small suitcase sat to the side, and she eyed it curiously.

"Ah, yes, Minerva," came Dumbledore's voice from somewhere behind her. She turned to find him smiling down at her. "I'm afraid there is no time for a report today, I have been called away to the Ministry on urgent business." As he spoke, he shrank the luggage and fitted it into the pocket of his robes.

Minerva could only nod mutely while Fawkes squawked in an indignant sort of way.

Dumbledore busied himself with tidying up his desk. "I am entrusting the school to your care. I do not imagine there will be any trouble, however."

"Have a safe trip, Albus."

...

_June 1992, a few days later_

"Thank goodness you returned in time, Albus," Minerva said, her voice hushed.

"Yes, I shudder to think what might have become of the boy otherwise," he said gravely. For once, the portraits around the office seemed to be awake; they were all watching the exchange with great interest, but did not say anything.

"Do you think You-Know-Who is gone for good this time?" Minerva whispered.

"Oh no, no," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "No, it is very likely that he will return again, although when that may be, I cannot say."

"But - the boy-"

"Has proven himself very capable of defending himself, Minerva."

"Still, he's only a child, Albus!" Her voice rose. "He shouldn't have to worry about such things!"

"No, he shouldn't," Dumbledore agreed. "However, he may find himself facing off against Lord Voldemort once more, at some future time."

Minerva gasped. "_Again_? Oh, Albus!" She sank into a chair, her face pale. Fawkes flew over and landed on her lap for comfort.

"I wish I could say that was the last time," Dumbledore said heavily. "Believe me, I do. But given Lord Voldemort's...tenacity, shall we say, I believe it likely that he will go after Mr. Potter again, and Mr. Potter, that delightful boy that he is, will no doubt feel obligated to fight him."

Neither he nor Minerva had any idea just how soon young Harry would end up battling the Dark Lord again, however. Certainly, they could not have predicted it would be the very next year…

* * *

Word count: 2,484

_A/N: I had to take some liberties/make some guesses about when some events occurred, as it wasn't always directly stated. I was tempted to publish this outside of this collection in case I wanted to continue it with the other professors, but I'm not sure I'd even want to. It would be cool if someone else did, though - let me know if you decide to do so. :)_


	15. Picnicking with Percy (BlaisePercy)

_Written for the Word Count Game Challenge on HPFC. Had to be 825-875 words._

_Warning for suggestive humor._

* * *

**Picnicking with Percy**

_(Alexander Hamilton: "There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait.")_

If anyone asked, Blaise would absolutely deny that he had a crush on Percy Weasley. The man was a member of the most blood-traitorous Pureblood families to ever exist, for one thing. For another...well, Percy was hardly Blaise's _type_. Blaise liked his men a bit wild, and everyone knew that Percy Weasley was about as far from "wild" as you could get, with the exception of his red curls, which Blaise had fantasized about running his fingers through a few too many times.

All this to say, when Percy got drunk at a Ministry function (_wildly _drunk, Blaise noted approvingly) and asked him out, Blaise said yes without hesitation. Percy had seemed somewhat surprised by his answer, but he didn't back down, either. Of course, that courage could have been attributed to the alcohol.

Blaise wouldn't have pegged Percy as the romantic type, but when Percy showed up at his front door and told him they were going for a picnic lunch, Blaise had been forced to rethink what little he knew about the redheaded man. All he could come up with was that Percy liked rules and power. Well, at least they had one thing in common.

"So, tell me a little about yourself," Blaise suggested as Percy enlarged a picnic basket and a red checkered blanket.

They sat down (Blaise taking care not to ruin his dragon-skin loafers) and Percy launched into a mini biography that made Blaise regret ever asking.

"There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait. I'm currently on track to become the next Minister of Magic, and after that, who knows?" he finished fifteen minutes later, puffing out his chest.

"Impressive," Blaise said dryly. Percy beamed. Clearly, he had missed the sarcasm.

"What about you, Zabini?" he asked, offering him a croissant sandwich and a glass of red wine.

Blaise waved a hand at him. "Please, call me Blaise. All the best people do."

Percy went slightly pink (which Blaise found distinctly adorable) and mumbled, "Okay, Blaise. You can, erm, call me Percy if you'd like."

Blaise grinned and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Merlin's balls, that's good," he groaned, making the redhead blush again. "Anyway, there's not much to say about me, really. I keep myself busy with the odd modelling job here and there, and I throw the most _epic_ parties, but that's about it."

Percy choked on a sip of wine. "You're a _model_?"

"What, you think I'd let this gorgeousness go to waste?" Blaise said with mock seriousness, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Percy stammered something about Blaise's gorgeousness being quite unfair, and Blaise chuckled. It was almost too easy to fluster the poor man.

"Your sister would probably be _thrilled_ to discover that I model, actually," he said suddenly, smirking slightly.

Percy raised a single scarlet eyebrow. "Ginny? How do you figure?"

"Oh, she once made fun of me for it," Blaise shrugged. "Well, not _directly_, I suppose, but the intent was there. I got the distinct impression she looked down upon it."

"That doesn't surprise me one bit," Percy said frankly. "My sister is beautiful, of course, but she's always been passionately...unconventional about embracing it."

Blaise's snort was rather indelicate. "That's one way to put it."

They sat in silence for a little while, nibbling at their sandwiches and sipping on wine. The combination of the warm sun and the slow intake of alcohol was making Blaise feel quite sleepy. He had to fight to keep his eyes open, and almost missed when Percy spoke again.

"You know, I didn't think you'd agree to go out with me," the redhead said quietly.

It was Blaise's turn to raise a brow. "You didn't?"

"Please. I know how you feel about...my kind."

"Roguishly handsome redheads?" Blaise teased. Percy shook his head, looking solemn.

"Blood traitors."

Blaise sat up quickly and frowned. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't care about that anymore?" It wasn't a total lie; he was beginning to see that he had been foolish to discount someone like Percy.

"Really?" Percy breathed, his expression hopeful. Blaise leaned over and gently pressed his lips to Percy's. The other man seemed slightly shocked by the gesture, and Blaise wondered if he had miscalculated Percy's feelings for him.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked, hating how unsure he sounded.

Percy smiled shyly. "Yes, I do." He reached out and grabbed Blaise's hand, which the former Slytherin normally would have found intolerable. He didn't this time.

A comfortable peace settled over them. After a few minutes, Percy said conversationally, "I hope you like snakes."

Blaise glanced surreptitiously over at the redhead's crotch and licked his lips. "I _love_ snakes," he drawled. "The bigger, the better."

"Good, because there's one just over there," Percy said, pointing to a huge (in Blaise's mind, anyway) green and black snake slithering around only a few feet away from their blanket.

"Salazar's snake!" Blaise yelped, resisting the urge to leap into Percy's lap. "You meant an _actual_ snake?"

Percy gave him a funny look. "Of course. What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," Blaise said quickly, cursing Percy's innocence, or perhaps his own dirty mind. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Word count: 875

_A/N: Hadn't written these characters before, much less together, so that was fun. Had to meet the word count so it was a little hard to expand as much as I would have liked. _


	16. what hurts the most (ParvatiLavender)

_Warning: implied/suggested sexual harassment, suicidal thoughts._

* * *

**what hurts the most**

_(Washington on Your Side: "I have to resign.")_

Parvati adds a final dash of cinnamon to the pot and stirs.

"Lavender!" she calls. "I made curry!" She smiles when she hears her girlfriend hurrying towards the kitchen.

"Oh, that smells divine," Lavender sighs happily as she enters. Parvati spoons some curry and rice into a bowl for her. "Thanks, love."

She begins to eat quickly, and her bowl is empty before Parvati has even eaten half of hers.

"Long day?" Parvati asks. She takes another bite of food while she waits for Lavender to answer.

"You have no idea," Lavender says with a groan. "Howard was _such_ a pain in the arse today."

"Bigger than usual, you mean?" Howard is Lavender's boss at the Daily Prophet, and he is a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen, as far as Parvati can tell.

Lavender nods and recaps the day's events, most of which involve inappropriate comments and lingering arm and shoulder touches. When she finishes, Parvati stares at her.

"Lav," she says slowly, "you can't work there anymore."

Lavender's laugh is bitter. "I don't exactly have a choice, Parvati."

"You _always_ have a choice," Parvati insists. Lavender shakes her head, her eyes bright with tears.

"Who else is going to hire me?" she asks, pointing to the faded scars running down her neck and face; Fenrir Greyback's work. "Do you know anywhere that's hiring monsters? Because I sure don't."

Parvati reaches out and takes Lavender's hand, curry forgotten.

"You're not a monster," she says, her voice firm. "Look at me, Lavender. You're not."

"I _am_," Lavender says tearfully, "and I'm lucky to have a job at all. Look at Lupin - he went years and years without finding work until Dumbledore was nice enough to hire him."

Parvati wraps her girlfriend in her arms and kisses her temple. "I make enough money for us to get by, love. You shouldn't have to subject yourself to lecherous advances-"

"I can't _not_ work, Parvati," Lavender weeps, clinging to Parvati's shirt. "If I have to stay home all day I'll be bored silly."

"Maybe you can take up a hobby?" Parvati suggests, rubbing her girlfriend's back. Lavender sniffs.

"I suppose," she says, but she doesn't sound too convinced. "I _like_ working, though. I like feeling, you know, _useful_. I like feeling like I...like I matter. _God_, sometimes I wish...I wish..." She trails off amid a fresh wave of sobs. Parvati holds her tightly, feeling her body shake with the force of her crying.

"Ssssh," she soothes. "It's okay, Lav. It's okay."

"No, it _isn't_. You know what I wish sometimes?" Lavender says shakily. "I w-wish Greyback had just f-finished me off."

"Lavender!" Parvati exclaims, shocked. "You can't - don't you _ever_ -"

"You don't know what it's like, Parvati!" Lavender cries. "You don't know what it's like to-to wake up every day _hating_ yourself!" She wrenches herself from Parvati's arms and runs from the room. Parvati follows her slowly, knowing that she'll likely find the other woman curled up on their bed. She feels numb. How could she not have known the extent of Lavender's suffering?

She enters the bedroom quietly. Lavender is sobbing into a pillow, her blonde hair cascading down around her shoulders.

"Lav?" Parvati waits, and when Lavender doesn't respond, she moves over to the bed and strokes her girlfriend's hair. Finally, Lavender looks up, her cheeks stained with tears.

"You're right, you know," she whispers. "I have to resign. I _will_ resign...some day. But not today, and probably not even this week. I know you don't understand, Parvati, but I _need_ this. I need this to feel..._normal_."

Parvati bites her lip, thinking. "Okay," she says at last, leaning over to kiss Lavender's cheek. "I don't like it, but I can't control what you do."

"If it gets to be too much, I promise I'll quit," Lavender says, wiping her eyes. "In the meantime, I'll see if anyone else is willing to hire me."

Parvati takes Lavender's hand and squeezes it. "I think that sounds like a good plan, love. And if you ever want to talk about anything, I'm here for you. You know that, right? I love you, and I don't want you to keep all of this bottled up inside."

"I'll try not to," Lavender promises. She reaches over and caresses Parvati's cheek. "I love you too, Parvati. Thank you for supporting me through this...through everything."

She doesn't elaborate, but she doesn't have to. Parvati knows exactly what Lavender means, and she knows that she will always be there to support her.

* * *

Word Count: 758


	17. love knows no boundaries (Romilda)

**love knows no boundaries**

_(Dear Theodosia: "I'll do whatever it takes.")_

Princess Romilda was sulking. She had just received word that Prince Harry did not want to marry her, which was, frankly, an enormous insult. Their union would have brought peace to the empire, not to mention riches and glory to _her_, yet he refused to take her hand in marriage. And so the princess, who went by Millie, sulked.

Nothing anyone did cheered her up. The best jesters in the kingdom were brought in to juggle and entertain, and she sat stony-faced before them. The cooks made her favorite meals, but she would not touch them. Her mother even offered to have the finest gowns made for her, yet she had no interest.

"Romilda, dear," her mother said one day, "you really must eat something, you are wasting away."

Millie sighed and reluctantly stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork. "What is the point, Mother? Harry does not love me, what reason do I have to go on?"

Her mother looked around to make sure no one was nearby before pulling a small bottle from her pocket. "I would not give up so easily, my child."

Millie stared at the tiny vial. It was filled with a beautiful, magenta liquid that was the same color as the roses in front of the palace.

"What is it?" she asked, reaching for it. Her mother hastily snatched it away, causing Millie to pout.

"It's a little something the witch Circe brewed for me. She tells me this will make Prince Harry fall in love you, thereby ensuring a marriage to him."

"It's a love potion?" Millie breathed. The queen nodded.

"Yes, a very strong one indeed. The use of such elixirs is punishable by death, however, so you must be very careful not to let anyone know you have used it. Now that you know the danger involved, do you still want to take the risk?"

Millie thought about it for a moment. Her mind filled with images of herself clad in a stunning white dress, a veil placed over her dark curls. She imagined walking down the aisle to meet her prince, who looked quite handsome in a charcoal grey suit, his brilliant green eyes filled with adoration for her and only her...This daydream was then replaced with thoughts of the fame and splendor the union would bring.

She held her hand out. "I'll do whatever it takes," she said, smiling triumphantly as she wrapped her fingers around the cool glass.

* * *

Word count: 412

_A/N: My first royalty!AU. The "Circe" here is not the Circe from Greek mythology, I just needed a name for the witch. Also, the title for this drabble is from the Are You Crazy Enough to Do It Challenge on HPFC._


	18. i'll fight (Wolfstar)

_Fairytale!AU. See author's note for more details. :)_

* * *

**i'll fight for the right to love you**

_(Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down): "I need no introduction.")_

"This is foolishness," Prince Sirius groans. "I am _not_ going to find my husband at this ball, Mother, regardless of what you and Father may think!" His handsome face pulls into a pout.

Now that Sirius is of marrying age, his parents are desperate to find him a suitable match. They would have preferred someone who could bear him children, but Sirius insisted that he wanted to marry a man. Although they were most unhappy with that, they had arranged a ball for all the _suitable_ young men of the kingdom to attend.

"You will go to this ball and you will find a husband if it is the _last thing I do_!" Queen Walburga hisses, smoothing out her silken gown.

"Oh, I sorely hope that it is, mother dearest," Sirius mutters.

...

Queen Walburga has chosen a splendid outfit of black, green, and silver for her son to wear. He quite detests it, however, and instead slips into a white coat with gold detailing, paired with scarlet and gold pants. He knows she won't be pleased, but he also knows she won't dare to cause a scene in front of the guests.

He preens in front of the mirror for a moment, admiring the way his thick, dark hair contrasts sharply with his white jacket. "I'm ready," he announces to his manservant, a mousy boy called Peter.

"You look very dapper, sire," Peter says nervously, "but surely your Highness does not wish to displease the Queen by wearing such clothes?"

"I think you will find that pleasing my mother is not at the top of my list of priorities," Sirius says idly. "However, if that should pose a problem to you, you are more than welcome to pack your bags." His tone remains pleasant, but there is no doubt he means to pierce the servant with his words.

Peter shakes his head. "N-no, sire," he squeaks, and scurries to the door.

...

Sirius dances the night away with many men, but none of them have that spark he's looking for. They're all so _boring_. He doesn't want to spend his life with any of them. He's about to pull his mother aside and say, "I told you so," when the doors to the ballroom open once more and a slight figure steps inside.

This man's grey suit is rather shabby, and its owner looks around nervously as though he isn't sure how he got there. Sirius bounds over to him immediately, and the man quickly sinks into a bow.

"Good evening," Sirius says brightly. "Who might you be?"

"I need no introduction," the man, who has kind blue eyes and straw-colored hair, says quietly. "I am no one of great importance, I assure you, your Highness."

"Let me be the judge of that," Sirius teases. "And please, call me Sirius."

...

Despite his wheedling, Sirius is unable to determine the man's name. The state of his clothing suggests that he does not come from a noble family, but he possesses a sort of quiet charisma the Queen herself would envy. He seems nervous about dancing in front of everyone, so Sirius leads him to a bench by the fountain just outside the ballroom. There, the prince spends the next two hours talking animatedly with him, enjoying every minute. When the clock strikes midnight, however, his conversation partner jumps up, suddenly looking panicked.

"I must go," he says. "My mother needs me at home, she is very ill."

"Wait!" Sirius cries. "I still do not know your name."

The man looks at him sadly. "As I told you, it is of no consequence. Thank you for a wonderful night, your Highness."

Sirius opens his mouth to correct him, but the man has already run off into the ballroom and disappeared. The prince searches the entire palace but is unable to find any trace of him.

That is, until he spots a tattered black dress shoe lying on the palace's front steps.

...

Sirius describes the mystery man to everyone in the palace, but no one can remember ever seeing him before.

"Well, he must be found. He is...so perfect," the prince sighs to anyone who will listen.

Peter speculates that the man is harboring a huge secret. His father wonders if he was just passing through the kingdom. His mother refuses to help him at all.

"Your father and I will not see you married to some-some commoner!" she shrieks. "You besmirch the name of your fathers!"

Sirius ignores this, and decides that the only way to find the owner of the shoe is to round up all the young men in the kingdom and ask them to try it on. It is a simple enough order, yet difficult to carry out in practice. Many take one look at the shoe and wrinkle their noses in disgust, offended by the idea that they might own - let alone _wear _\- something so worn. Just when Sirius is about to give up, however, he remembers an old, derelict house near the forest.

Amid groans from his manservant and the others, he insists that they pay the ramshackle home a visit.

...

The woman who answers the door is clearly frightened to see the prince standing there. Sirius, meanwhile, can't help but notice that her blue eyes look remarkably familiar.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he says politely. "Does a man of about twenty live here?"

The woman claps a hand over her mouth. "My Remus is not in trouble, is he?"

Sirius hastily assures her that he isn't, and asks to see him. She finally lets him inside and calls to her son. When Remus comes downstairs, Sirius' heart leaps. He's almost certain it's him, but he has to be sure...

Sirius holds up the shoe, and Remus' face goes redder than the pants the prince wore to the ball.

...

The shoe fits, not that Sirius had any doubt about that. The man - _Remus_ \- even provides its tattered twin. At this, Sirius grabs Remus' hands and kisses him. The other man looks shocked for a moment, then hesitantly kisses him back, winding his fingers into Sirius' hair.

When the prince pulls away, he breathlessly says, "Remus, would you do me the honor of agreeing to marry me, thereby completely upending my mother's life?"

Remus looks like he might faint.

"I was merely joking," Sirius says quickly, "although I think I would very much like to marry you someday, if you do not tire of me before then."

Remus smiles shyly. "I am sure that could never happen, your Hi - Sirius."

Sirius smiles and kisses Remus once more. His mother and father can disapprove all they want - he has found his match, and he will never let him go.

* * *

Word count: 1,118

_A/N: Sirius' outfit is taken from the Disney version of Cinderella - it worked well because it's Gryffindor colors, even if "Gryffindor" doesn't exist in this world. Title is from "Do I Want You Because You're Beautiful" from Rodgers and Hammerstein's _Cinderella.


	19. disrupted (LuciusNarcissa)

**disrupted**

_(Best of Wives and Best of Women: "[Name], come back to sleep.")_

Lucius' side of the bed was cool to the touch. Narcissa frowned. That meant he had slipped away without her noticing...again. This was becoming something of a nightly ritual, and one that she didn't care for one bit.

Like every other night, she padded to the door of his study and knocked gently. She waited the prerequisite thirty seconds before the door opened and her husband stood before her.

"Narcissa," he murmured. "You shouldn't have gotten up." He always said that.

"Lucius, come back to sleep." Her standard reply. Tonight, however, Lucius went off their usual script, surprising her with his next words.

"No. We need to talk."

He took her hand and led her into the room. Narcissa had rarely been allowed to see the inside, and she took in the rare books and expensive wooden furniture eagerly. Lucius sat next to her on a black leather couch that was so stiff Narcissa wondered if it ever got any use. He continued to hold her hand, which was starting to make her very nervous. Lucius was not normally so demonstrative outside the bedroom.

"My darling," he began, his voice syrupy sweet, "I have _excellent_ news."

His bland smile didn't quite match his words, and Narcissa began to feel even more uneasy. "What is it, my love?"

"The Dark Lord wishes to make Malfoy Manor his center of operations."

Narcissa bit back a gasp. "The Dark Lord here? In our home?"

"Yes, I believe that is what I just said," he snapped. He smoothed down his dressing gown and sighed. "I apologize. I should not have spoken so rudely."

"No, it's quite alright, Lucius. I understand." Narcissa slowly withdrew her hand from her husband's. "What are we to do, then?"

"It's quite simple. _We_ are going to be the perfect hosts." Lucius' stare bored into her, daring her to disagree. It was clear that whatever his feelings - and by extension, whatever _her _feelings - on the matter, they didn't have much of a choice.

Narcissa dipped her head. "Of course."

Lucius smiled again. To Narcissa, it looked more like a painful grimace. "Good. I'm glad that's settled." He leaned over and dutifully pecked her cheek before moving to his desk.

"Will you come back to bed soon?" Narcissa found herself asking. She bit her lip. It wasn't like her to ask with such longing, but in that moment, she needed to feel her husband's arms around her. Needed to feel the security only his embrace could provide.

Lucius glanced up at her, surprise just barely evident on his features. He cleared his throat. "That could be arranged."

Narcissa slipped back to their bedroom. A short while later, she felt her husband slide under the covers with her. His arms found her slender frame and held her close.

She sighed. It felt like the Dark Lord was punishing them. Still, perhaps they could use this to their advantage somehow. She would have to discuss it with Lucius in the morning.

* * *

Word count: 499


	20. Revelations (Wolfstar)

**Revelations**

_(Helpless: "Where are you taking me?"/"I'm about to change your life.")_

Remus was roused from sleep by someone poking his arm insistently. He groaned and tried to cover his head with his blanket, but whoever it was wasn't giving up easily.

Finally, he sat up and glared at the shadowy form in front of him. The figure was tall and thin, which meant it could only be one of two other boys in his year.

"James?" he tried. The boy laughed, and there was no mistaking who it was.

"What do you want, Sirius?" he groaned.

"Come with me, Moony."

Remus considered ignoring him, but curiosity won out and he slowly pulled on his dressing gown and followed Sirius down to the common room. The fire was still lit, and he was grateful for its warmth. He peered out the window; the sky was dark and the grounds appeared still. It must have been at least one in the morning, by his calculations.

"We're not staying here," Sirius said, rather impatiently. "Come _on_."

"It's the middle of the night, Sirius," Remus responded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Where are you taking me?"

Sirius looked back at him and grinned. "I'm about to change your life."

"Oh, well, that explains things," Remus said sarcastically, following Sirius out of the portrait hole. The Fat Lady eyed them suspiciously.

"Not off to cause any mischief, are you, boys?" she trilled.

Sirius rolled his eyes and cast Disillusionment charms on himself and Remus, leaving the portrait to chatter with, seemingly, thin air.

"Where are we going?" Remus asked again.

"Don't want to ruin the surprise, Moony," Sirius winked.

The two boys moved carefully and quietly through several corridors, finally arriving at a stretch of wall on the seventh floor. Remus looked around and saw a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on one wall, but little else.

"This is what you dragged me out of bed for?" He squinted, trying to make out where Sirius' body was in the dim shadows. Perhaps it was Remus' imagination, but the torchlight didn't seem to reach this section of the hallway.

"Patience, Moony." Remus didn't miss the absolute glee in Sirius' voice, and he huffed in annoyance.

"Please tell me you dragged me out of bed for something a little more exciting than a blank wall, Pads."

He blinked. A magnificent oaken door suddenly appeared a little further down the corridor.

"Coming?" Sirius' voice drifted over to him, and he realized Sirius must be in front of the door now. He was proven correct when the door opened smoothly as if by an invisible hand.

Remus hurried over and slipped through the door, presumably just behind his friend. Once inside, the boys were quick to remove their Disillusionments and look around. Remus' mouth dropped open. The room had an impossibly high ceiling and rows of bookcases lining the sides. Several giant poofy chairs had been arranged in a circle around a large fireplace where yellow and orange flames danced. In the corner, he even spied a shiny broomstick.

"What is this place?" he whispered.

"It's called the Room of Requirement," Sirius said, grinning broadly. "James's dad mentioned it to him in passing, and then James figured out how it worked and showed it to me."

"It's amazing."

"Yeah, I thought so too. It becomes whatever you want it to, basically." Sirius took a step towards him. "James thought it would be a good place for the four of us to hang out, but when I heard about it, my first thought was actually...that it might be a good place for _us_ to spend time together."

Remus tried to swallow and found his mouth had gone dry. "Us?" he croaked.

Sirius' smile was shyer now. It was an unusual look on him; he was normally so confident. "Yeah. That is, if you want..."

"Are you-are you saying you're interested in me?" Remus said slowly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"C'mon, Moony, do you really have to ask me that?" Sirius had moved closer and now Remus could see the desire in his eyes. He swallowed, scarcely able to believe it.

"I...I didn't think you'd ever-"

"Ever what?" Sirius asked, uncharacteristically gentle.

"Ever notice me," Remus mumbled, staring down at the carpeted floor.

Sirius' laugh caught Remus off guard. "Moony. How could I _not_ notice you?"

"Because I'm not James, I'm not-"

"No, of course you're not," Sirius agreed, rubbing Remus' arm gently. "That's why I like you so much."

It felt like all of the air had left Remus' lungs. He took a few deep breaths and staggered over to a chair, collapsing into it. He continued to shake as Sirius rushed over to him.

"Moony? Moony, talk to me, what's going on?"

"Can't...breathe," he somehow managed.

Sirius bit his lip. "I've got to say, this isn't exactly how I expected my confession to go," he joked feebly. He moved to sit on the arm of Remus' chair, but at the last second veered away to sit on his own, and Remus found himself feeling disappointed.

After a few minutes, Remus' breath returned to normal and he shot Sirius a sheepish look. "Sorry about that. I was just...surprised."

"Surprised," he repeated tonelessly. "Got it."

Remus frowned. "Sirius, I-"

"I'm going to go back to bed," Sirius said heavily, standing.

"Not until you listen to what I have to say," Remus said loudly, getting to his feet too. He suddenly felt frustrated with Sirius. Resentful, even. He wasn't _listening_.

"I can't," Sirius said, his voice strained. He turned towards the door.

"I thought you were brave!" Remus shouted.

"I _am_ brave!" Sirius yelled back, apparently abandoning the idea of leaving in favor of defending his pride. "I just told you that I fancy you and you-you lost it!"

Remus shoved a hand through his hair. "I already told you, I was surprised. Blimey, Sirius, can you blame me? You're Sirius Black, you could have anyone, _anyone_, in this entire school - don't look at me like that, you know it's true - and you're saying you want _me_?"

"Yes!" Sirius bellowed. He sank back into his chair and added quietly, "That's _exactly_ what I'm saying."

Remus looked down at his friend, who looked strangely vulnerable the way he was tucked up in his seat. Hesitantly, he reached over and pulled Sirius' hand into his own. Sirius gasped, and Remus wondered if he had just felt the same jolt of electricity when their hands touched.

"I'm flattered," he said gently. "I'm so, so flattered. But your parents won't approve-"

"I don't care what they think, Remus." Sirius' dark gaze was stormy, and his voice could have cut steel. "I _don't_."

"But I'm a were-"

"Remus, do you like me or not?" Sirius bit out.

"I-I do, but I-" Before Remus realized what was happening, Sirius had pulled him into his lap and crashed their lips together. It took him a moment to process what was going on, but soon he had tangled his hands in the other boy's hair and let out a moan. Sirius used this opportunity to deepen the kiss, swirling his tongue inside Remus' mouth. Every nerve ending in Remus' body felt like it was on fire. He had never felt so alive, or so _desirable_.

"Sirius," he panted a few minutes later. "As much as I'm enjoying this, we have classes tomorrow...We need to get back to the tower and get some sleep."

"Only you could make that sound appealing, Moony," Sirius smirked.

"Not _together_," Remus blushed, although now that he had said it, it was all he could think about.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "I was referring to the way your voice sounded when you said it."

Remus glared half-heartedly at him. "You were not. Now come on."

Sirius took Remus' hand before casting the Disillusionment charm this time. Remus shuddered, although he wasn't sure whether that was due to the cold feeling trickling down his body or the warm hand entwined with his. He smiled at Sirius before remembering that the other boy couldn't see him.

Together, the two Gryffindors snuck back to their dorm, where Remus reluctantly dropped Sirius' hand. Sirius planted a quick kiss on his lips before padding off to his four-poster bed. Remus stood there for a moment, dazed, until-

"Oi, mate, are you going to get some sleep or not?"

Remus chuckled and climbed under the covers, suddenly exhausted. "Goodnight, Sirius."

"'Night, Remus."

Before he drifted off to sleep, Remus realized that Sirius _had_ changed his life that night - in more ways than one.

* * *

Word count: 1,428

_A/N: I'm on a Wolfstar bender and I regret nothing. :P I like the feelings reveal here better than the one I wrote in Say It With Chocolate...Frogs, but oh well. _


	21. Breaking Free (Hermione Ron Draco)

**Breaking Free**

_(One Last Time: "I don't know what you heard, but whatever it is, [name] started it.")_

_(Aaron Burr, Sir: "Talk less. Smile more.")_

Hermione spends the majority of her own wedding reception drunk. It isn't like her to drink so much, but she has her reasons.

She watches as Ginny and Harry dance together, unencumbered by the same heaviness as the one that sits in her stomach and compels her to down another glass. She sees Luna wandering around, humming absentmindedly and taking in the odd color scheme of scarlet and green. She sighs. On what should be one of the best days of her life, Hermione does not feel happy at all.

One reason for her bender walks up to her in a haze of red hair and slightly too-short black dress robes.

"Hermione," Ron whispers, pulling the tumbler from her grasp, "you've had too much, please stop." His pleading tone makes her want to cry. It is evident he still cares about her, even after she has gone and married someone else. Not that she had much of a choice in the matter.

She hiccups. "Look, I don't know what you heard," she slurs, "but whatever it is, Malfoy started it."

A vigorous nod of her head to emphasize Malfoy's culpability only makes her feel dizzier. She stumbles, and Ron's arms circle around her just as another reason for her alcohol binge sneers, "What's going on here?"

Her new husband. _Husband. _The thought sends shivers down her spine. Curse the marriage law and curse the sodding idiot who paired her up with the one person she was - and still is - absolutely _not_ prepared to spend the rest of her life with.

"Remove your hands from my wife at once, Weasley," he commands.

"Hey, Malfoy." Hermione tries to give him her sternest look. "Talk less. Smile more. Maybe you'd be more bearable that way." She giggles to herself.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to her, Malfoy," Ron hisses. "Look at her, she's completely smashed."

"Am _not_," she insists, adjusting her gown.

"Hm, yes, it would appear she is," Malfoy drawls. "Well spotted, Weasley. Now, run along, I can take it from here."

Ron sputters something incomprehensible and stalks away. She watches him leave, wishing it was his ring settled onto her finger. Wishing he could have been the one she pledged eternal love and devotion to.

Her arms snake around herself as she jerks away from Malfoy's touch. She has been hit with a sudden sense of clarity and purpose that only hitting rock bottom could provide. Unable to find a way around the law, she all but resigned herself to her fate. She forgot that she is _Hermione Granger_, and that she has been through more in twenty years than some people go through in an entire lifetime. What's more, Malfoy can never - _will _never - be able to control her.

Her thoughts swirl until they have rearranged themselves into a plan. She will wait out this sham marriage, but she will not do so quietly.

In defiance, she does not consummate her marriage that night, and, motivation renewed, she continues her research into reversing the decree the very next day.

Let the Ministry try and stop her. They don't stand a chance. It will only be a matter of time before she can break free from the bonds of matrimony.

* * *

Word count: 540

_A/N: I had to use the title "Breaking Free" and the character of Hermione and this is what my brain came up with, haha. _


	22. A Weasley Wedding (Oliver)

**A Weasley Wedding**

_(My Shot: "Geniuses, lower your voices.")_

"Angie looks so pretty," Katie whispered to Oliver. "That dress is absolutely _stunning_ on her." They watched as Angelina practically glided down the aisle towards George and the tufty-haired minister.

Oliver nodded absentmindedly. His former Gryffindor teammate did look quite nice, but he was far more focused on Katie, who had donned a lovely buttercup yellow dress for the occasion. "If you say so."

"Oi, geniuses, lower your voices," Alicia, who was seated on Oliver's other side, hissed out of the side of her mouth. Her eyes were locked on the tableau in front of them, but her fingers kept fiddling with the skirt of her peach floral dress. "If you two ruin Angie's big day with your gabbing, she'll kill you. And then _I_ will hunt you down and kill you again."

Oliver and Katie lapsed into silence, watching through watery eyes as their friends vowed to love each other until death did them part. Alicia pulled out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes; a moment later, Katie borrowed Oliver's to do the same thing. Elsewhere, Oliver could hear someone blowing their nose noisily. Mrs. Weasley, he guessed.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Oliver snatched his handkerchief back from Katie and wiped away a few of his own tears. After everything Angelina and George had been through, he was glad they had found comfort in each other.

He grabbed Katie's hand and motioned to Alicia. "Come on, let's go congratulate them."

They hurried towards the newly married couple and spent a few minutes waiting in line behind the other well-wishers. Harry Potter was standing very close to them, so they chatted excitedly with him until it was their turn to speak to Mr. and Mrs. George Weasley.

The women shrieked with joy at seeing each other. George grimaced at Oliver.

"I love Angie, but that woman is going to rupture my eardrums one of these days," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"I know what you mean. This one," Oliver nodded at Katie, "is going to do the same to me."

He asked after Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and promised he would swing by soon to catch up properly. "Puddlemere's got me working hard, but I've got a day off coming up. I can't wait to see the place."

Oliver talked with Angelina for a few minutes as well. She was eager to hear about his experience with Puddlemere United, but he told her it would have to wait until his visit to the shop.

"You're no fun," she pouted before kissing his cheek in farewell. One of the white flowers in her hair fell out as she did so ("Oops! I guess the charm must have worn off already"), and she tucked it behind his ear with a grin.

By this time, Katie and Alicia had found the drinks table and were well into their glasses of amber liquid.

"Here, Oliver, I got you one, too. Nice flower, by the way," Katie winked, pushing a glass into his hand. He thanked her and took a sip, surveying the festive atmosphere while the two women gossiped about which guests Alicia should try and flirt with.

It felt almost strange to Oliver that they should be celebrating such a momentous occasion. He supposed it still hadn't quite sunk in that the war was over.

His eyes fell on Katie and he smiled, thinking of the small box tucked away in his gym bag. With any luck, his friends would be attending another wedding very soon.

* * *

Word count: 585

_A/N: I realized belatedly that trying to write five people in one drabble is VERY hard...ha._


	23. Sunglasses & Shopping(platonic Wolfstar)

_Inspired by the Dialogue by Fandoms Challenge on HPFC - Supernatural: _"Hey. You know who wears sunglasses inside? Blind people. And douchebags."

_Muggle!AU._

* * *

**Sirius, Sunglasses, and Shopping**

_(Stay Alive: "Yeah, he's not the choice I would have gone with.")_

"Sirius," Remus sighed, pushing the trolley through the narrow aisles of the tiny supermarket. "Take off the sunglasses, please. People are starting to stare."

"So what? Let them stare."

"So, you look-" Remus noticed that Sirius had stopped paying attention to him and snapped his fingers to draw his friend's head back toward him. "Hey. You know who wears sunglasses inside? Blind people. And _douchebags_."

Sirius grinned and removed the offending glasses, stuffing them into his pocket with some difficulty. "Are you calling me a douchebag, Remus? How flattering."

"Pretty sure that's not a compliment," Remus responded dryly.

"And I'm pretty sure _that_," Sirius plucked at Remus' beige jumper, "makes you look like a total bore, but you don't hear me saying anything."

"It's practical," Remus said defensively, smoothing it back down. He eyed his friend's choice of clothing, which consisted of tight leather pants and, if it were possible, an even tighter black shirt that looked like it might rip if Sirius flexed his muscles too hard. "Anyway, we're never going to finish our shopping at this rate. Come on, let's go look at fruit."

Sirius made a face that suggested he would rather not do such a thing. Remus ignored him and moved towards the small selection of fruits and vegetables.

"How about we get some peaches?" He held one up and examined the soft flesh carefully. Sirius shrugged.

"Fine."

Remus spent a few more minutes selecting the least-bruised of the peaches as Sirius looked around, clearly bored.

"Remus," he said suddenly, "look. It's our favorite cashier." He nodded towards the front of the store. Remus looked over, too, and stifled a groan.

"Oh, great, that Peter bloke. Just our luck."

It wasn't that Peter wasn't nice. He was just...not very good at his job. He was terribly slow, in fact. He scanned things with all the speed of a sloth - that is to say, not quickly at all. He had once spent a good quarter of an hour ringing up Remus' items, and Remus had ended up being late for a doctor's appointment. At least Remus could bag his own items, and always did so as fast as he could while still making sure nothing got crushed. He mostly felt sorry for Peter, though, and tried his best to be kind to him.

"Ooh, the avocados look nice," he said, getting them back on track. "Let's get some of them, yeah?" He proceeded to pick out a few of the green fruits while Sirius tapped his foot impatiently.

Remus quickly grabbed a few more essentials, like milk and bread, tuning out his friend's suggestions of junk food and sweets.

"How," he said sternly, handing a case of chocolate pudding and a carton of vanilla ice cream back to Sirius, "do you expect to remain fit if you insist on eating complete shite?"

Sirius merely waggled his eyebrows at him. "You think I'm fit, Remus? Why, thank you!"

Remus thought he might strain his eyes from rolling them so hard. "Right. I'm off to the checkout now."

He approached the lone cash register slowly and with great trepidation.

"Hello!" Peter greeted him in his usual squeaky voice. His sky blue shirt clashed horribly with his bright red nametag. "I trust you found everything alright today?"

"Same as always, Peter," Remus said politely. Peter's beady eyes were boring into him. To cover his discomfort, he looked around for his friend, who had apparently struck up a conversation with a pretty brunette. He sighed. That was so like Sirius. Nowhere was too mundane for him to try and pick up a date.

Peter had managed to ring up the bread and a few other items in the time it had taken Remus to scan the store. Remus began to pack his purchases into bags, taking care not to squash any of the more delicate things. He felt grateful that there wasn't anyone else in line behind him breathing down his - or Peter's - neck.

At long last, Peter finished scanning everything, and Remus tucked the egg carton into one of the bags just in time to take his change and receipt. "Have a nice day, Peter."

"You too," Peter said eagerly. Remus nodded and hurried over to Sirius, who was still in deep conversation with the brunette.

Remus cleared his throat loudly. "Sirius? Are you ready to go?"

"Who's your friend, Sirius?" the woman all but purred.

Remus smiled tightly. "I'm Remus. I have the unfortunate honor of being Sirius' roommate as well as his friend." The woman eyed him suspiciously, and Remus couldn't blame her. He and Sirius were, after all, very different. It was probably a miracle that they hadn't murdered each other after so many years of living together.

"His roommate," the brunette repeated, lifting a single brow.

"Yeah, he's not the choice I would have gone with," Sirius joked. "But he's turned out to be great, really great. Does all the shopping and everything."

"He'd be hopeless without me," Remus told the woman, before adding innocently, "Sirius, you don't mind helping me carry these bags, do you? I know you never miss an opportunity to show off your muscles."

Sirius roared with laughter. "Too right, mate." He took the bags from Remus and paraded around with them while the woman's eyes roved over his biceps approvingly.

"Alright, Sirius, I think that's enough," Remus chuckled, reclaiming one of the bags. "You're going to make the poor girl drool." The woman flushed and handed Sirius a piece of paper.

"My number," she said, and quickly walked away.

"My God, Remus, you sure know how to make the ladies disappear," Sirius teased, slinging an arm around Remus' shoulder. Remus laughed.

"I guess I do. It's kind of a gift, you could say."

Sirius shook his head. "Don't worry, mate, we'll find you a nice girl one of these days."

Remus groaned. "By 'we,' do you mean-"

"Me and James? Yeah," Sirius snickered, following Remus to the door.

Remus smacked Sirius' arm with his free hand and received a stinging pain for his trouble. "I hate you. _Both _of you."

"I highly doubt that," Sirius smirked.

"Yeah, you're right," Remus said seriously. "You two make me feel like the most responsible person on the planet."

Sirius shoved him lightly. "You're a right prat sometimes, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one," Remus said, grinning wickedly.

They bickered like that all the way home.

* * *

Word count: 1,074

_A/N: I love writing these two. They're just so fun. Apparently cashiers don't bag groceries in England, so I fixed that part. _


	24. An Evening Alone (James & Harry)

_Just a quick warning that this contains references to a baby spitting up, in case that makes anyone uncomfortable._

* * *

**An Evening Alone**

_(What Comes Next: "Awesome. Wow.")_

Lily left James alone with baby Harry one evening. She said she needed "girl time" with Marlene, and really, who was James to argue with that? Being a mum seemed exhausting, and he wanted to do whatever he could to support his wife.

So far, things weren't going terribly, although Harry kept pulling on James's hair, much to his chagrin.

"Harry, would you please stop - ow! That was Daddy's hair! He's very fond of it, and you're going to make him-"

Harry tugged on James's hair again and cooed delightedly. James rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you think the possibility of me losing my hair prematurely is funny, Harry. That makes one of us."

He bounced the baby and made silly faces at him, and all too soon, Harry was sound asleep.

"That wasn't so bad, huh, little man?" James said softly.

...

Harry woke up and suddenly began to squirm in James's arms. James blinked tiredly down at him.

"Whatcha want now, Harry?"

Harry made a sucking movement with his mouth. James chuckled.

"Hungry, eh?" He rummaged through the bag of supplies Lily had set up for him and emerged with a bottle. After heating it a little, like Lily showed him, he offered it to his son. Harry greedily gulped down the contents, more quickly than James even thought possible. "Oops. Maybe I should have fed you sooner."

Harry finished the bottle and James let out a sign of relief. Suddenly, however, Harry burped, and James felt something warm and moist dribble onto his chest. He looked down to find Harry had spit up on his shirt.

"Awesome. Wow. Thanks, Harry," he managed, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell. "How does Lily put up with this?" Shaking his head, he tried to figure out a way to clean himself off, but he wasn't sure if it was safe to put the baby down to grab his wand. He decided he would just have to wait until Lily returned home.

...

Lily laughed when she saw the dried spit up on James's shirt, but thankfully, she quickly cleaned him up with a wave of her wand.

"Thanks," James said sheepishly. "I would have done that myself, but I wasn't sure if...well, I didn't want to jeopardize Harry's safety."

Lily smiled at him. "That's very sweet, James," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she took Harry from him, "but you didn't have to sit there with spit up on your shirt for several hours!"

James made a show of burying his face in his hands as though he couldn't believe he had been so stupid, but he was secretly grinning to himself. He and Harry had survived an evening together, and he couldn't wait to do it again, spit up and all.

* * *

Word count: 467


	25. Jokes (Fred)

_Standup comic!AU. (Is that a thing? It is now.)_

* * *

**Jokes**

_(Meet Me Inside: "I'm not your son.")_

_(A Winter's Ball: "[Name] named her feral tomcat after him.")_

Fred was offstage, pacing nervously. It was his first time performing in a venue this large—even though it was nothing more than a large pub—and he was nervous. He was used to a few nerves, but nothing like this. What if the audience didn't like him? What if they booed him off the stage? Well, that could make for interesting material for future sets. He had just had this thought when his name was announced.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Fred Weasley!"

He walked onstage to lukewarm applause and cleared his throat.

"Good evening!" he said, trying to peer out at the audience despite the bright lights shining in his face.

"Good evening," a few people replied. He tried not to be too discouraged by the less than enthusiastic response. He was an unknown, after all. They weren't sure about him yet, but his jokes would soon get them laughing. Or so he hoped, anyway.

"Well, as you now know, I'm Fred Weasley and I'm going to be telling you some jokes."

"Get on with it, then," someone yelled.

"Trying to, sir," Fred said earnestly, earning him a chuckle or two. "Right, so, I've always been a bit of a troublemaker..."

...

After his first joke, which had received a decent amount of laughter and applause, Fred felt emboldened to continue.

"When I was about six, my dad hosted a party for some bigwigs at his job. I guess it was going pretty well, until it came time to introduce his kids."

A few titters. People were imagining how it might have gone. That was good. He was going to, hopefully, surprise them with how it really went.

"My sister was only three, and she merely waved at them. My younger brother Ron, four, did as well. That was all fine, but my brother Percy was next. Now, my brother Percy has always been rather...pompous. He was only eight or so at the time, but in true Percy fashion he stepped forward immediately, said, 'How do you do, Mr. Crouch, sir?' and held out his hand. Well, the man was so shocked that this little boy was so well-mannered that he forgot how to shake hands!"

This got a few giggles.

"He just stood there like an alien who had never learned our customs. Finally, my dad had to go, 'Sir, I've still got four more children for you to meet,' and that seemed to snap him out of it."

A few more laughs. Fred then described how his older brothers, Bill and Charlie, had behaved, garnering a few more laughs. Finally, it was time for the punchline—or rather, punchlineS.

"My dad introduced me and my twin brother George last—I think he was hoping that if we saw how the rest of the family had behaved, that we might follow suit. George knew I had a prank planned, so he kept giggling at random moments. When it was his turn to meet Mr. Crouch and the others, his face had turned red with the effort of not laughing. As you can imagine, Mr. Crouch was a bit worried about him."

Fred paused and looked out over the audience amid a few chuckles.

"'Are you alright, son?' Mr. Crouch asked. And George, _George_ said to him, 'I'm not your son!' My mum looked like she might die of embarrassment right on the spot, poor thing."

The audience, who by now knew a little bit about the Weasley matriarch, laughed heartily.

"Then it was my turn, and I had this great prank up my sleeve..."

...

It was time for a final joke. Fred was glad; his voice was growing a bit hoarse because he had forgotten his usual bottle of water.

"I'll keep this one brief," he said to the crowd. "My Aunt Muriel is, shall we say, rather crotchety."

He paused for a few chortles of laughter.

"Anyway, we hadn't seen her for a while, because George and I had pranked her a while back. Apparently, during this time when she wasn't speaking to my family, she had developed a bit of an obsession with...The Beatles."

Someone said, "Oh, dear," which elicited a few giggles.

"Yes. She had posters everywhere. There was even one in the bathroom! Imagine trying to do your business with those blokes staring at you."

That got quite a few loud guffaws.

"Now, one day, my mum said to us kids, 'You can't make fun of your Auntie Muriel, she's old and lonely.' And Bill said, 'But Mum, that's no reason for her to start pretending that George Harrison is her boyfriend!'"

It was almost time for the punchline now, and Fred walked around a bit to act out the different members of his family.

"'You know, Molly,' said my dad, 'she does seem to be especially fond of that one. She named her feral tomcat after him.' George and I looked at each other, and at the same time, George said, 'So her cat's name is George, like me?' while _I _said, 'I didn't even know she had a cat!'"

As the laughter died down, Fred added, "It turned out she named the cat Harrison, though."

...

A tall girl with black hair and rich brown skin approached him after his set.

"You were funny," she told him.

"Thanks. I'll be here all week," Fred quipped.

She hesitated for a moment. "I'm Angelina, by the way."

"I'm Fred. But you already knew that, right?"

"Yeah, I'd figured that out for myself, funnily enough," she said with a wide grin. Fred smiled back, wondering what the chances were that she would be receptive to a date. He was a sucker for girls who weren't afraid to banter.

"Would you like to have—"

"I'd love to," she said quickly, pulling a piece of paper and a pen out of her pocket and scribbling on it. "Here's my number."

"Are you a mind-reader?" Fred joked. "It's like you—"

"Knew what you were going to say before you'd finished your sentence?" Angelina laughed. "I guess I just find you a bit predictable."

Fred pretended to look wounded. "Hear that? That was the sound of my ego deflating." He watched Angelina's eyes light up with mirth before adding, "We'll just have to see about that predictability, though, won't we, Miss Angelina?" He grinned mischievously. Oh, was she in for a surprise or two.

* * *

Word count: 1,060

_A/N: Because even my AUs have to have a __**little**_ _romance in them. :P Also, these jokes are terrible, haha. I thought it was an interesting way to use the prompts though._


	26. under the setting sun(platonic DeanLuna)

**under the setting sun**

_(Take a Break: "Run away with us for the summer.")_

Luna was painting the sunset over the Black Lake when Dean Thomas first spoke to her.

"Looks nice," he commented, pausing to admire her brushstrokes.

Her fingers trembled a little bit after that.

...

The next week, Dean found her in the Astrology Tower, painting another sunset.

"Never took you for a painter."

His voice startled her enough that a large glob of red smeared in the wrong place, a bloody gash on an otherwise pristine picture of a sunset.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling out his wand.

Luna placed her hand gently on his wrist and smiled at him. "There's no need for that. I'll work the smudge in somehow."

His brow wrinkled. "But...you could just fix it with magic."

She laughed. "And what would be the fun in that?"

He stayed and watched her turn the rusty red smear into a soaring dragon.

...

Before long, Dean would come and find Luna almost every evening in various parts of the castle or its grounds. She never asked how he managed to find her all those times. She preferred keeping it a mystery.

"Why do you always paint sunsets?" he had asked her once.

"I suppose I like to remind myself that there is beauty in the world, even if it doesn't always seem like it," she had replied.

She felt like Dean could relate to that.

...

One evening, Luna decided not to paint a sunset at all. She set up her canvas and paints near Hagrid's pumpkin patch and waited. Sure enough, Dean came striding down from the castle a short while later.

"Why'd you choose this spot?"

She smiled up at him. "I just felt like painting something new today."

"So...no sunsets?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Not today," Luna said cheerfully. "Today, I'm painting pumpkins." She liked the alliteration of it, so she repeated it a few times while she mixed some colors on her palette. Dean smiled and shook his head at her.

She carefully painted a few strokes, then stopped. These evenings she spent with Dean were often quiet, but today he seemed quieter than usual.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, keeping her eyes on her work. She continued to sweep her brush across the canvas while she waited for his reply.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "There is something I'd like to know. Are you my friend?"

A drop of yellow paint fell onto Luna's house tie as she considered this. "I'd like to think so," she said at last. "I've never really been someone's friend before, though."

"Me neither," Dean admitted, scuffing his foot on the ground.

Luna had never felt so happy.

...

"Summer holidays will be here soon," Luna said brightly a few weeks later. "Do you have any plans?"

She knew at once that she had said the wrong thing, for Dean's face darkened considerably. She tried to continue painting, but her hand felt heavy, like someone had tied a rock to it. She tore her eyes away from her half-completed sunset when Dean spoke.

"I don't like going home," he mumbled. "It's noisy, and my parents—my mum and stepdad—don't like magic much."

"I'm sorry," Luna said softly. "That must be very difficult for you."

"It's okay," he said quickly, but he wasn't fast enough at hiding his pained expression.

Luna started to bounce on her heels. An idea had just occurred to her. "Dean," she said, "run away with us for the summer—me and my dad. We could have so much fun, the three of us!"

A smile slowly spread across her friend's face, and Luna was glad that she had managed to say the right thing this time.

"Really, Luna? You think your dad would be up for it?" Dean sounded cautiously hopeful.

"Yes, of course," Luna said. "I know Daddy worries about me. He was ever so glad to know I've made a friend, and I'm sure he would love to meet you."

Dean ran a hand through his thick, coarse hair. He suddenly looked nervous. "I hope he likes me."

"Don't be silly," Luna replied, turning back to her paints. "Daddy likes everyone."

...

The sun was setting over the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Dean and Luna sat on a picnic blanket outside the Lovegood family home, taking in the view.

"You're not painting the sunset tonight?" Dean asked, nudging her arm.

Luna shook her head. "No. I'm enjoying it with my friend." She smiled as she said the last word.

"That's a good idea," Dean said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Friends come and go, but sunsets...sunsets are forever."

"I disagree," Luna said mildly. "Friends are forever too. The good ones, anyway."

"Am I a good one?" Dean asked.

Luna leaned her head against his shoulder. "Yes, Dean Thomas, you are a _very_ good one."

* * *

Word count: 800


	27. Say No to This (PansyHarry)

_Warning: contains cheating/an affair._

* * *

**Say No to This**

_(Schuyler Defeated: "I swear your pride will be the death of us all.")_

Pansy sighs. Her short, dark hair is mussed from hours of lovemaking, and Harry thinks she has never looked more beautiful.

Now, he traces little flowers onto her soft, bare skin and is pleased by the resulting goose pimples. His touch still does something to her, even after so many months.

He just wishes he could say the same for his wife.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmurs.

"The one thing I probably shouldn't be," Pansy admits at last.

Harry stills his fingers. "Which is?"

"Weasley."

Harry looks away. Clears his throat. "This isn't a conversation we should be having, Pans."

"You're not happy with her, I know you aren't," Pansy persists. "_I _could make you happy."

"I've told you," Harry gently pulls the sheet up to cover her nakedness, "I won't leave her."

"I know," Pansy says bitterly. "I swear your pride will be the death of us all. Or maybe just me." Harry isn't sure, but he thinks she might be on the verge of tears.

He shakes his head. "It isn't _pride_ that keeps me tied to her." He tries to search for the right words. "Her family is the only family I've ever known. They took me in when my own relatives were horrible to me, they fed me, cared for me—"

"And they would all turn their backs if they found out about this," Pansy concludes. "But if you broke things off with Weasley amicably, what reason would they have to do so then?"

Harry laughs. It sounds forced even to his own ears. "I don't think Gin would let me go that easily."

"Even though she won't shag you anymore? What reason does she have for keeping you around?"

"Are you suggesting I'm only good for a shag?" Harry keeps his voice light, but he's hurt by the implication.

"Of course not," Pansy says, leaning over to kiss him. "I just meant that she doesn't seem particularly interested in holding onto you. Not like I would be."

Harry knows how devoted Pansy is to him, but at the end of the day, he's greedy. Pansy's his escape, but Ginny's the one he returns to every night. Maybe he's playing with fire, but he knows Pansy would never burn him.

He shifts, uncomfortable at the turn their time together has taken. "Can we talk about something else?" he asks.

"Or we could not talk at all," Pansy winks, tossing the sheet away to reveal herself once more. Harry grins and pulls her on top of him.

"I like the way you think."

He doesn't know how to say no to this, and what's more, he doesn't want to.

* * *

Word count: 444

_A/N: Title taken from the Hamilton song because that's what inspired the last line. Also, the amount of time/thought I put into justifying this affair just makes me feel gross. Don't cheat, kids. _


	28. Marry Me (GilderoyRita)

_Warning for...implied non-consensual marriage? I guess that's what this is. _

* * *

**Marry Me**

_(Your Obedient Servant: "Here is an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements."/"Sweet Jesus/Merlin/whatever…")_

_(The Story of Tonight: "And when our children tell our story, they'll tell the story of tonight.")_

Rita's quill hovered over a piece of parchment, ready to write at her command, but Rita wasn't ready to give the go-ahead just yet. She was waiting to see if Gilderoy could deliver first. Everyone else had left hours ago, but Rita had remained behind, pretending she was working on the very article she was hoping Gilderoy could provide evidence for. Of course, she was not beyond telling blatant lies, but her most juicy articles tended to have at least a _little_ truth behind them.

She heard his footsteps approaching and looked up in time to watch her handsome boyfriend-slash-gossip-acquirer stride into her office.

"As promised, here is an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements," Gilderoy announced, brandishing said list in Rita's face.

Rita snatched it away and read it greedily. "Sweet Merlin," she murmured. "This is amazing. _Amazing_. How did you get your hands on this?"

Gilderoy flashed her a charming smile. "I have my ways, you know that." He leaned in for a kiss, and she let her manicured nails linger on his cheek for a moment.

"You did well, Gil."

They made a great team—he procured the latest, greatest scandals and she wrote about them (and often him as well). It was a mutually beneficial relationship, and one that she could see continuing for a long time.

"Marry me," Gilderoy said suddenly.

Rita looked askance at him. Had she spoken her thoughts aloud?

"Come again?"

"Marry me," he repeated, his blue eyes full of excitement. "Think of how much farther our careers will go if we take our relationship to the next level, Rita. The world will be our oyster, and I don't even like oysters."

He smiled at Rita again before plowing on. "Can't you see the headlines now? 'Gilderoy and Rita: A Love Story for the Ages.' And, when our children tell our story, they'll tell the story of tonight. The place where it all began." He waved his wand and a bottle of wine appeared. "What do you say, pet?"

Rita was torn between smiling and looking horrified. She didn't want children, so that last part hadn't swayed her. That headline, on the other hand...that _did_ have a nice ring to it.

Still, this wasn't exactly the grand proposal she imagined she would one day receive, and she opened her mouth to tell him as much. Perhaps Gilderoy had some inkling of what she was about to say, because he quickly pointed his wand at her. After that...nothing.

A week later, Rita awoke to a new husband and stories of a lavish proposal she couldn't even remember.

* * *

Word count: 436

_A/N: Right, so at first, I was going to just make this a piece of fluff and Rita was going to say yes, but the more I thought about it...the more I thought, "Rita would not be okay with that and this is a total Gilderoy thing to do." _


	29. Reconciliation (CorneliusMinerva)

**Reconciliation**

_(Congratulations: "You're the only enemy you ever seemed to lose to.")_

Anyone who saw Minerva McGonagall stride into The Three Broomsticks that evening would have said she moved with great purpose and perhaps a little agitation. Her eyes swept over the pub and landed on a lone figure in the corner, at which point she huffed and positively stalked over to him.

"Drowning our sorrows, are we, Cornelius?" she asked, sliding into the seat across from him and eyeing his several empty bottles with disdain. "Hmm. It really doesn't suit you."

Cornelius looked up at her, his eyes red. Gone was his usual jovial look, replaced with one of great despair. "You'd do the same if your wife up and left you in the middle of the night, Minerva."

Minerva leaned forward, frowning. "Mathilda left you?"

"Yes, yes, that's what I've just said!" Cornelius wrung his hands. "She said I was a—a disgrace. What did I do to deserve this?"

"I suppose your failure to notice the Dark Lord's return for several years might have something to do with it," Minerva said dryly.

"If you've come here to rub it in—"

"On the contrary, I came to meet up with an old friend." Minerva sat back and signalled to Madam Rosmerta, who hurried over.

"What can I get you, Minerva?"

"Just a butterbeer, please. Oh, and Rosmerta? Don't let me catch you serving Cornelius any more drinks. He's clearly had enough."

Cornelius made a vague noise of protest, and Minerva raised an eyebrow at him. "Come now, Cornelius, I understand that you're upset, but moping about in pubs is hardly the way to go about redeeming yourself." She opened her newly acquired drink and took a sip.

Cornelius sighed. "Looking back, I can see so many missteps, so many things I should have done differently. The guilt is eating me up inside, Minerva!"

Minerva's face softened. "I'm not surprised, you know. You're the only enemy you ever seemed to lose to. Even when you were Minister, your biggest hurdle was your own self-doubt."

"You may be right," Cornelius said heavily, "but a lot of good that insight'll do me now."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Minerva lay her hand on the table, palm up, in a reconciliatory gesture. A moment later, Cornelius took it with a small smile.

"Thank you, Minerva," he said, his voice rough. "It means a lot to have your support right now."

"You always will, Cornelius. You know that."

Cornelius brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "I do now. And I won't let my doubt get the best of me this time."

* * *

Word count: 431

_A/N: Did I...just write Cornelius/Minerva? ...I guess I did. _


	30. dead end feelings (PadmaCho)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum. (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 111. pointless.)_

* * *

**dead end feelings**

_(Guns and Ships: "I mean, you gotta put some thought into the letter.")_

"Padma!" Cho pokes her head into younger Ravenclaw's dorm. "You're going to Hogsmeade, aren't you?"

The other girl smiles ruefully. "Not this time, Cho. I've got an essay to write."

That's a lie. She's ahead on all her schoolwork, but she can't tell Cho that. She can't tell Cho that she isn't going because listening to her jabber on about boys, about _Cedric_, tears her apart inside.

Padma lied to protect herself. To protect a heart that beats only for Cho.

...

"Padma," Parvati whispers at dinner that night. She has come over to the Ravenclaw table to sit on the bench next to Padma. "Where were you today? I thought you were meeting me and Lavender at The Three Broomsticks."

Cho is watching, so Padma mutters, "Not now, Parvati."

"But—"

"Not. Now," she bites out, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and storming off to the library.

At least Cho never goes to the library.

...

She thought about it once, what it would be like to kiss Cho. What it would be like to _date _Cho. It made her feel giddy. But then her logical side came out and told her that she was being ridiculous, that Cho didn't like girls, that she was wasting her time on a fanciful daydream.

She never thought about it again.

...

Raindrops patter on the windows of Ravenclaw Tower. Padma listens to the soothing sound and tries to forget about her pointless, _hopeless_ crush. It's been months now, _months_, and nothing's changed.

"Hey, Padma, do you have a spare quill I can use?"

It's Cho, and she looks flushed for some reason. Padma looks at her curiously, but retrieves her best quill without comment.

"Thanks." Cho grins and tosses her long, dark hair. "I'm just sending off a quick letter to Cedric!"

Padma forces herself to speak, to sound as normal as she can considering her heart feels like it's stuck in a vice. "How—how nice."

"Isn't it?" Cho giggles and flounces from the room.

"I can't get you out of my mind," Padma whispers to her retreating back. She isn't sure if she even wants to.

...

Parvati is worried about her.

"Padma," she says gently, "listen to your head. Heart gets you in trouble. _Head_ is your friend. Believe me, I know."

"You're right," Padma sighs, and it strikes her as ironic that her boy-crazy, always-has-a-crush twin is the one imparting this wisdom. "I'll try."

Parvati places a hand on her arm, and the simple gesture makes Padma's eyes sting a little. "I know this is difficult for you, Padma. You love strongly. That's who you are. It's a gift."

"Uh huh. Or a curse," Padma mumbles.

Loving Cho at _all _is a curse.

...

"Padma! Hey, Padma!" Cho calls across the grounds. Padma pretends not to notice. After her talk with Parvati, she's decided it's better this way.

...

"You're hard to find these days, Padma," Cho says, cornering her in the common room one evening. "I've been wanting to show you something." She leads Padma up to her dorm, and Padma's breath hitches. It occurs to her that this is starting to feel an awful lot like that _daydream_ she had that one time.

She remains quiet as Cho explains that she's writing a letter to Cedric, then hears herself agree to look over a draft of it.

"You could just talk to him, though," she says, trying not to sound bitter. "Don't you think this is a bit... old-fashioned?"

"No, it's romantic," Cho sighs, and Padma wonders if she's ever looked that dopey when thinking about _her_. She hopes not.

She scans the parchment quickly, trying to ignore the lump that surges to her throat every time she reads, "my love" and the other equally nauseating nonsense Cho has written.

"Well?" Cho demands, and Padma struggles to form a coherent sentence.

"It's—it's—"

Cho seems to understand that her lack of response means that the letter needs improvement. "What do I need to do, Padma? Please, you have to help me!"

"It's fine, but I mean, you've got to put some _thought_ into the letter. This is—it feels...empty," Padma says slowly.

Cho squeals and throws her arms around her. "You're awesome! Thank you!"

Padma is unable to get that simple embrace out of her head for days.

...

One day, Cho starts wearing a beautiful sapphire necklace.

"It's from Cedric!" she gushes to Padma.

Padma resists the urge to rip it from her throat.

...

Cedric Diggory dies at the end of that year, and something in Cho dies with him. Sometimes, Padma thinks she's the only one who's noticed.

Until Harry comes into the picture.

Padma has never disliked Harry. Now, she _hates_ him. Because it's clear that he likes Cho, too, and Padma knows that _he'll_ be the one who tries to put her back together. Padma just wishes she could have had that chance.

* * *

Word count: 814

_A/N: Title comes from an Anna Clendening song called Dead End. _


	31. Take a Break (CharlieHarry)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 26. glasses.)_

* * *

**Take a Break**

_(Non-Stop: "They are asking me to lead. I'm doing the best I can.")_

"You're quiet today, Harry," Charlie commented, poking his head into Harry's study. Usually Harry had time to make a joke or chat for a bit, but today, there had been nothing. Nothing at all. Charlie wasn't one to worry, but he couldn't deny that he felt, well, worried.

Harry looked up and gave him a tired smile that still managed to make Charlie melt a little.

"Sorry, I'm just," he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and nodded at the piles of paperwork around him, "drowning in work."

"Yes, I can see that," Charlie laughed, opening the door further and stepping inside. "It's good to see your face, though. Why don't you take a break?"

"Can't," Harry said immediately. "I'm swamped."

"When did you turn into Hermione?" Charlie teased. "That witch is all work and no play, too."

"As I recall," Harry said lightly, "you once appreciated my, ah, _dedication_."

Charlie blushed—not many people could make him blush, but Harry was one of them—and decided to give Harry some space. Perhaps he worried too much about the dark-haired man, but it was hard not to. Harry had been through so much in his short life.

Before he could slip away, however, Harry stopped him.

"Don't go." He put his head in his hands and sighed. "I'm beyond stressed right now, Charlie. I've got so much on my plate and the Ministry is breathing down my neck—"

"Breathe, Harry," Charlie commanded, but his voice was gentle, as though Harry was a small child he was trying to pacify. "Okay. Talk me through this. What's going on, exactly?"

"I can't tell you everything—"

"I know," Charlie said calmly. "Just give me the general idea."

Harry sighed again. He took his glasses off and polished them on his shirt as he continued. "Okay, so, the Ministry is...well, they're panicking. I guess there have been some, erm, _rumors_ about some of Voldemort's followers trying to replace him, so we created a task force to track them. And now, the Ministry—they're asking _me_ to lead...I'm doing the best I can, obviously, but chasing down these followers is hard work, and—"

"Let me stop you right there," Charlie interrupted again. "First of all, you're doing a bloody amazing job. I don't even need to know the details to know that, because you are the most passionate Auror I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Second of all, you _seriously_ need to take a break. So, what are we going to do?"

Charlie had been moving towards the desk as he spoke, and now he stood beside Harry, his hand on the younger man's shoulder. Harry blinked up at him like he didn't know how he had gotten there.

"Sorry," he said quickly, his green eyes glassy. "What was that?"

"What are we going to do?" Charlie repeated. "How about we start with a hug?" Harry stared at him as though he had never heard of such a thing before. Charlie groaned. "You have to stand up for this to work, Harry." Harry got to his feet, wincing.

Charlie wrapped his arms around the thin, dark-haired man and pulled him to his chest. He was just tall enough that he could lift his chin and place it on Harry's head. He did this for a moment before lowering his gaze to Harry's.

"Please take a break," he said softly. "You'll make yourself sick, and then where will the Ministry be?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. "They're counting on me, Charlie."

"So am I," Charlie whispered, squeezing him tightly. "I'm counting on you to take care of yourself, Harry. Besides, you're no help to anyone when you're working this hard. So please, just get away from the work stuff for a bit and come do something with me." He threw in his best pout for good measure, the one he knew Harry wouldn't be able to resist.

He held his breath as Harry looked at him for a long moment. Finally, the younger man nodded and he let out his breath slowly.

"Great! How about we grab our brooms and fly around aimlessly for a bit?"

Harry's face broke into a grin. "That sounds good."

Charlie whooped and dragged Harry from the room, glad that his perseverance had paid off. He wasn't sure how long he could keep Harry from his work, but he was going to make sure that Harry enjoyed this well-deserved break.

* * *

Word count: 739

_A/N: Although the prompt itself is from "Non-Stop," this was also heavily influenced by "Take a Break." :)_


	32. All About Roxy (TeddyRoxanne)

_My first (and probably last) time writing a Next-Gen pairing._

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 166. Teddy Lupin.)_

* * *

**All About Roxy**

_(Cabinet Battle #1: "Turn around, bend over, I'll show you where my shoe fits.")_

_(Cabinet Battle #2: "Do whatever you want. I'm super dead.")_

Teddy has always felt this urge to protect her. Roxanne. Not because he thinks she's weak, but because she's the strongest girl he knows, and if he didn't look out for her, he's not sure anyone else would.

That is why, when he arrives at Roxy's house one day to find her sobbing over a photo album, his protective instincts kick into overdrive.

He immediately rushes over to the sofa and puts his arm around her. "What's going on?" he asks softly.

She shoves the album towards him. It's open to a picture of two men who look just like her dad, George. They're both wearing magenta robes and identical grins, and are waving at the camera in unison.

"Is that—"

"Yeah," Roxy says with a small sob. "That's my dad and my—my uncle Fred."

"Wow," Teddy breathes. "They really did look just the same." He's heard the stories, of course, and even seen a picture or two of Fred, but he's not sure he's ever seen a photograph of the twins standing side by side before.

Roxy nods and snuggles a little closer to him. Her hair has a vague citrus scent to it; he wonders if that's from her shampoo. "This photo was taken at their shop," she explains.

"Ahhh," Teddy says. "That explains why they've got those horrible robes on!"

Roxy quickly realizes he's teasing her and shoves him lightly. "They're not horrible!" Teddy raises a single turquoise eyebrow, and she giggles. "Okay, maybe they're a tiny bit horrible."

Teddy is glad that she's smiling again. She looks so pretty when she smiles. Prettier than all the other girls he knows.

Roxy turns away to dry her eyes, and Teddy examines the picture again. It's hard for him to believe that one of the men in the picture is dead now. They both look so young, so full of life. He squeezes Roxy's shoulder and murmurs, "I know you're sad about your uncle Fred, but he died a hero, you know? And from what I've heard of him, he wouldn't want you to be sad."

Roxy turns her brown eyes on him and sighs. "You're probably right, Teddy. You're so smart."

Teddy tries not to blush. "Not as smart as you."

"Shut up, Teddy, I'm trying to compliment you!"

"I'm not as bossy as you either," he says, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Edward Lupin, I am _not_ bossy!" Roxy stomps her foot. "You take that back right now!"

"Really? 'Cause I heard you made Hugo cry a few times last year on account of you being so bossy," Teddy says knowingly.

"That was _one time_!" Roxy exclaims. Teddy shoots her a disbelieving look and she lowers her head slightly. "Fine. I guess I can be a _little_ bossy sometimes."

"How does that saying go?" Teddy asks innocently. "'If the shoe fits...'?"

"Turn around, bend over, I'll show you where my shoe fits," Roxanne mutters. Instead of looking scandalized, Teddy merely grins and shrugs his shoulders.

"Do whatever you want. I'm super dead."

"'Super dead'? Why are you like this?" Roxy groans. "Seriously, you're so _weird_."

"Yeah, but you love me anyway," Teddy jokes.

Roxy folds her arms. "Wanna bet?"

He digs around in the pocket of his robes and pulls out a bar of Honeydukes chocolate, which he proceeds to dangle in front of her. "Does this change your answer?"

Roxy's eyes light up. "It does." She grabs a piece of the proffered chocolate and pops it into her mouth. After a moment, she realizes Teddy is staring at her. "What? Did I get some on my face?"

"Yeah." Teddy reaches over and gently wipes the smudge away with his thumb. As he does so, his breath catches in his throat. She's looking up at him through her lashes, and he's just now realizing how much he wants to kiss her. Roxanne. A girl he's maybe always had a bit of a crush on.

As if she can read his thoughts, she whispers, "Kiss me."

He dips his head and presses his lips to hers. It's his first kiss, and it's clumsy, but it somehow feels just right. Because it's with Roxanne Weasley, who is the strongest-prettiest-smartest-_bossiest_ girl he knows, and he wouldn't have it—or her—any other way.

* * *

Word count: 715

_A/N: Okay, y'all, let's not talk about how I know absolutely nothing about Next-Gen, okay? (Seriously. I am so clueless about these characters, but I tried. I really did.) If I ruined your headcanons, I am very sorry. _


	33. Pistols and Promises (ArthurMolly)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 68. gun)._

* * *

**Pistols and Promises**

_(First Burn: "Explain to the children the pain and embarrassment you put their mother through.")_

Arthur is enjoying a quick cup of tea before bed when he hears his wife calling him.

"Arthur!" Molly's tone is sharp, and Arthur knows he's in trouble. She comes into the kitchen waving the pistol that Arthur confiscated at work last week.

Arthur gulps and sets down his teacup. "Be careful with that, Molly, dear." He still doesn't know exactly how it works, but he knows it's dangerous. Some sort of Muggle deathstick, apparently. He's not planning to _use_ it, though. He just wants to take it apart and see how all the parts work in tandem, because it fascinates him.

"What is this?" she hisses, ignoring his warning and, if it were possible, waving it around even more. Arthur scrambles to think of an explanation.

"Well, dear, it's a—a Muggle item—"

"Yes, I can see that!" Molly has her hands on her hips now. Arthur eyes the pistol warily, afraid it might go off at any moment.

"Well, erm, I won't lie to you, I'm not _entirely_ sure how it works, but—"

"Arthur Weasley! I will not have some unknown Muggle item in my house!"

Arthur wilts under her angry glare, but tries to explain that it isn't _technically_ in the house, it's in his little shed. This doesn't assuage her, however, and by now, their children have started to creep downstairs to see what's going on.

"Mum?" Ginny asks, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "What's all the yelling about?"

Molly turns on Arthur, who gulps again. "Explain," she says, her voice shaking with anger. "Explain to the children the pain and embarrassment you put their mother through."

Arthur feels that this is a tad dramatic—if anything, _he's_ the one suffering from pain and embarrassment, and it's not like there was a Ministry inquiry _this_ time—but thinks it best not to tell his wife that. Especially when she's pointing the gun right at him.

"Ah, yes," he stutters. "I may have brought a—an item home from work and left it l—lying around when I shouldn't have—"

"Precisely!" Molly shouts. "What if one of the children had found it, Arthur?"

Arthur feels a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. "They didn't, though, did they? It was safe in my shed, Molly," he says beseechingly, hoping that her tirade will be over soon.

"We know better than to go in Dad's shed, Mum," Bill says quickly, clearly hoping for the same thing. Fred and George let out identical loud yawns.

"Molly, dear, the children are tired. We're keeping them up, you know," Arthur says, appealing to his wife's maternal nature.

It works. Molly sags, the fight leaving her. Arthur hurries over to wrap his arms around her and gently remove the pistol from her grasp. "I'm sorry, love," he whispers into her ear. "I'll be more careful next time, I promise." He knows this isn't the last time they'll have this conversation, though.

She glares at him again, but it lacks the same heat that it had earlier. "Arthur Weasley, what _am_ I going to do with you?" she mutters. Louder, she says, "Back to bed, all of you." Their children nod and shuffle back upstairs to their respective rooms.

"Does that include me as well?" Arthur jokes feebly. Molly's face suddenly breaks into a mischievous smile, and Arthur is reminded of where Fred and George got that look from.

"You know, Arthur, I do believe it does."

He grins back at her and lets her lead him to the bedroom.

* * *

Word count: 581


	34. Bygones (Oliver & Scorpius)

**Let Bygones Be Bygones**

_(Wait For It: "I am the one thing in life I can control.")_

Oliver Wood stared at the name at the top of his class roster in dismay. Surely there had been some mistake, he mused. Perhaps it was a different Malfoy...yeah, right. It wasn't exactly a common surname, was it? He sighed and rubbed his temples. His wife was _not_ going to like this.

...

"Scorpius Malfoy?!" Katie shrieked. "Absolutely not, Oliver! You know who his father is!"

"I do, which is why I wanted to give you a heads-up before the season started—"

"_Oliver Wood_! You're not telling me you're going to allow that—that _boy_ to stay on the team—

"Katie," Oliver said wearily, putting up a hand to quiet the irate witch, "what am I going to do about it, eh? I can't very well discriminate against the poor lad, it's not his fault his father is...evil."

Katie shook her head. "I can't believe this. You know what his father did, what he was _capable_ of, and you're completely ignoring it!"

"I'm not ignoring it. I just don't see a way out of coaching his son that doesn't make me sound like a massive prat."

"Really?" Katie's voice had gone dangerously soft. "How about, 'There are too many hard feelings here,' or 'The boy's rubbish at flying,' or even — oh, _I don't know_ — 'His father cursed my wife when she was just _seventeen years old_!'" The last part was screeched into Oliver's alarmed face.

"To be fair, love, those are mostly your feelings. Not that I don't think they're valid, of course," he added hastily. "But look, if he's even half as good as Malfoy senior...oi, Katie, come back!" For his wife had stomped from the room. He stared at her retreating form for a moment, contemplating going after her, but decided to let her be. She had a fiery temper and was best left to cool down alone.

Oliver lowered himself into his desk chair and rubbed his temples again. Katie had reacted about as well as he had expected, which was to say, not well at all. It wasn't too surprising considering the animosity his wife felt towards Draco Malfoy. The git _had_ given her a cursed necklace that left her in something akin to a coma for six months, after all. And yet...

Oliver hated to admit it, but Draco Malfoy had been a bloody good Quidditch player. If there was any chance that little Scorpius had even a fraction of his father's talent, Oliver would see to it that the lad reached his full potential. However, it was looking pretty likely that his wife would never speak to him again if he did.

...

Two days went by. Katie was still giving Oliver the cold shoulder, talking to him only when needed and in as few words as possible. He understood why she was disappointed in him, but what had happened between her and Malfoy took place over twenty years ago, and Scorpius hadn't been involved at all. He hadn't even been born! Why should he be punished for the sins of his father? Oliver had tried to reason with his wife, but she would stalk away or clam up whenever he brought up the subject, so he had given up trying.

Anyway, it wasn't as if he had _planned_ for this to happen. Oliver had played Quidditch professionally for over fifteen years. It was only in more recent years, after his retirement, that he had taken up coaching a minor-league team over the summer. Plenty of young, talented players had gotten their starts with his team. Not that he bragged about it, of course, but he reckoned a big draw for the team was having a formerly world-famous Keeper as a coach. Many of his players had parents around Oliver's age, which meant he knew a fair few of them from his Hogwarts days, or he knew their siblings. Every game was like a mini reunion of sorts, which was sometimes weird, but usually just fun. Having Scorpius Malfoy in the mix wasn't that much different than, say, Albus Potter. He had a famous father too. Granted, his father had helped save the wizarding world and Malfoy junior's had helped to try and destroy it, but as far as Oliver was concerned, Scorpius had every right to a spot on the team. Same as everyone else. Besides, he was sure the elder Malfoy would have better things to do than attend his son's games, so perhaps Oliver and Katie would be spared seeing the git anyway.

...

June 15th, the first day of practice for Wood's team, arrived with great fanfare in the Bell-Wood household. Katie rose early and made a hearty English breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, and grilled tomatoes, singing loudly all the while. Oliver was up early as well, poring through a stack of notebooks filled with notes and plays from the previous summer. He sauntered downstairs at 7 AM, unable to keep away from the kitchen and the delicious scents wafting from it any longer.

"Smells great, love." He kissed his wife and sat down to eat.

"You nervous for today?" Katie teased.

"Never!" He grinned back at her, happy that she seemed back to her usual playful self.

She had gradually been warming up to him again, especially after he had pointed out that it was unlikely that her attacker would be present at practices or matches. Oliver wasn't sure that Malfoy was as financially well off as he had once been, but he still felt certain the man would have some sort of nanny bring his son to practice. Surely it was beneath him to show any sort of involvement in his son's life. As Oliver understood it, _his_ father had been much the same way.

After the war, Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to spend the remainder of his years in Azkaban. Draco Malfoy had almost received a similar fate, but given his age at the time of his offenses, he was deemed "worthy of rehabilitation," slapped with a large fine, and placed under house arrest for several years. Oliver privately felt that this sentence had been fair; after all, Lucius Malfoy was an intimidating figure who had no doubt terrorized his son. There was also the fact that during Draco Malfoy's trial, it had come out that he had been trying to protect his mother through his actions. Yes, Oliver had almost felt sorry for him upon hearing that. He had never voiced his own thoughts on the matter to Katie, however, as she had been enraged at the "light" sentence their former classmate had received.

...

"Scorpius Malfoy!" Oliver called. A few whispers broke out among the children standing in front of him.

"Here." A small, slight boy with blond hair and a narrow face stepped forward, looking nervous.

Oliver, who had known immediately that he was a Malfoy, gave the boy a warm smile and placed a check mark next to his name.

"Bethany Clearwater!" he called again, hoping the others would soon forget who was in their midst.

"Present!" The voice belonged to a girl with wavy brown hair and glasses, who held her broomstick in a vice grip. Oliver peered at her. Her face and name were both familiar to him.

"Clearwater, eh? Any relation to Penelope Clearwater?"

"Yes. That's my mother, sir."

Oliver laughed. "You can call me Oliver. Or Wood. Same goes for the rest of you."

About twenty kids had signed up for the team, but only fifteen had shown up today. Perfect, really. He could make two teams plus an alternate, and find out which position would suit each child. He was feeling quite pleased about how things had shaken out when he noticed that Scorpius' pale face was tinged with green.

"Alright there, lad?" He clapped a hand on Scorpius' shoulder and the boy jumped. His broomstick fell to the ground and he quickly picked it up again, looking embarrassed.

"Y—yes, sir."

Oliver drew him away from the rest of the kids, then knelt down so that he could better see the boy. "Oliver," he corrected gently. "Or Wood, if you're more comfortable with that."

"Alright, Ol—Oliver."

"Are you sure you're alright, son? You look like you're going to be sick."

"I just..." Scorpius trailed off and looked around nervously. "No one wants me here. I see the way the other kids look at me. They all hate me."

Oliver took a deep breath. This might be outside his pay grade, but he was going to try his best to help this poor lad fit in. "Don't worry about the other kids, lad. I'll make sure they play nice."

"I think I'd rather just go home," Scorpius whispered, tearful. Oliver's heart broke a little at the sight of the frightened boy.

"Look, Scorpius," he said bracingly, "if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's this: I am the one thing in life I can control. No one else. Just me. Those kids? You can't make them like you, but you can let that bother you or not. That's up to _you_. And they won't give you any trouble as long as I'm around, alright?" He felt a little bit like he was giving one of his pep talks.

Seeing that the boy still looked ill, he added, "We've barely even started practicing. Just give it one try, for me. Tell you what, I'll let you be the alternate for the first round so you can sit and watch for a bit."

Scorpius hung his head. "I guess I could do that."

Oliver grinned. "Good sport. I like you already. Now, let me sort out the others and then we'll hop up into the stands and watch."

He strode back to the group, noticing as he did so that several children were shooting Scorpius dirty looks. He cleared his throat, and fifteen pairs of eyes turned to him.

"Alright, you lot, let's count off to decide what teams we'll be playing on today."

...

A short time later, Oliver found himself reclining in the stands next to the son of his wife's nemesis. He was rather fond of the boy already, if he was being honest. Scorpius was well-mannered and intelligent, and seemed to have a knack for seeing the strengths and weaknesses of his airborne teammates.

"Lucy's quite nimble, isn't she?" the child asked suddenly. "She'd make a better Seeker than Chaser with the way she handles her broom."

Oliver beamed over at him. "Too right, lad. I was thinking the same thing myself."

Scorpius' face went pink and he stared at his feet with a shy smile. A moment later, it was gone, however, and his wide eyes were fixed on something in the distance. Oliver turned to see what he was looking at and gulped visibly.

Draco Malfoy was striding across the pitch, looking harried. Oh, Merlin, this couldn't be good. Oliver stood and stretched, then exited the stands to meet Scorpius' father.

"Malfoy." He stuck out his hand for the other man to shake. He wasn't expecting the other man to reciprocate, but he did.

"Wood," he said stiffly. "You don't mind me coming to watch, I hope." It was a statement, not a question. His grey eyes, so like his son's, quickly scanned the children zooming above. "Where is Scorpius?"

"He's, ah, over there." Oliver gestured towards the small boy, who somehow looked even smaller sitting alone in the vast rows of risers.

His father raised an eyebrow. "Why is he not flying with the others?"

"Uneven number of children. And...he was nervous."

"I see. Let me speak to him."

Oliver watched as Draco Malfoy crossed to his son. To his surprise, the older man sat down next to his son and took one of his hands. They looked so similar, sitting there together. Their blond hair was almost an identical shade of platinum, and they both had pointy chins and slender figures. It appeared that Scorpius had begun to cry, and his father was comforting him, even going so far as to give the boy a hug.

Oliver tore his eyes away to give them some privacy, focusing instead on his team. Stuart Westin had a good Beater's build and he was a natural at wielding the bat, he noted. And Bethany Clearwater handled the Quaffle very well. A possible Chaser?

Oliver glanced back at the Malfoys. Both were standing now, and the elder Malfoy was leaning over to kiss the top of his son's head. Oliver almost fell over in shock. Twenty-some odd years had really done a number on Draco Malfoy, apparently. It was...refreshing. He grimaced at the thought of telling Katie, but he couldn't hide something this big from her. She would be dying to know what Scorpius had been like, anyway, and then he would have to tell her about everything. Maybe she could finally forgive Draco after all this time.

He walked back over to Scorpius and his father. "Got it sorted, I hope? Scorpius, are you ready to get in there and play?"

The boy nodded solemnly, and Oliver chuckled. "Great." He directed his mouth upward and hollered, "Oi, teams, let's break for a few minutes! Towel off if you need to and be sure to get some water!"

Gradually, the young players began to land and head towards the water fountains or their bags.

Oliver turned back to the Malfoys. "So, Scorpius, are you a Seeker like your father?"

Scorpius' face lit up for the first time. "Yeah!"

"Excellent, we'll get you up there to look for that Snitch, then," Oliver told him.

The elder Malfoy gave him a curt nod. "Thank you, Wood."

Oliver nodded back. "Of course."

...

All in all, Oliver mused as he packed the crate of balls away and shouldered his broomstick, it had been a good first practice. There had been no major injuries (although Greg Thomas had been whacked in the face with a Beater's bat by accident) and the kids seemed to get along fine. They even warmed up to little Scorpius pretty quickly. It was amazing how much their prejudices had been shaped by their parents, and even more amazing how quickly those prejudices melted away when they took the time to get to know the lad.

...

"He's changed, Katie," Oliver insisted over dinner. He took a bite of pasta, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. "Malfoy, I mean. I know you want to think otherwise, but—"

To his surprise, his wife nodded. "Yes, I imagine he has." He must have looked more shocked than he realized, because she laughed and added, "I thought about it a lot today, and I realized Malfoy has probably grown up a lot since school. I know I have. And really, it wasn't like it was his idea to curse me. Well, I suppose it _was_, but he had been trying to kill Dumbledore under You-Know-Who's orders, so..."

"Exactly," Oliver said, squeezing her hand. "You should have seen him with little Scorpius. He was so _tender_ with him. I honestly couldn't believe this was the same Malfoy that went around bullying people in school."

"That's great, Oliver. I hope his son stays on the team, you seem to really like him. The other kids didn't scare them away, did they?" Katie asked.

Oliver shook his head. "I don't think so. Once they realized he wasn't anything like what they had heard, they were quite nice to him. He's a very sweet lad."

Katie smiled. "Next thing I know, you'll be inviting him over for dinner."

"I know you were joking, but that's not a bad idea," Oliver said thoughtfully. Maybe Katie and Malfoy senior could put aside their differences over one of Katie's excellent meals.

Katie threw her napkin at him; he dodged it easily. "We are _not _hosting the Malfoys!"

"Fine," Oliver said lightly, "but you'll be at the matches, and I suspect Draco will be too, so I fully expect you to be on your best behavior."

"Yes, _Captain_," Katie smirked. Oliver grinned at her cheeky response.

"Careful, Bell, or I'll make you do twenty laps around the pitch," he teased.

"Pffft, that's _nothing_. Back in the day you'd make us do forty. I think you've gone a bit soft," Katie said seriously, spearing another piece of pasta onto her fork.

Oliver burst out laughing. "I wasn't _that_ bad, was I?"

"Oh, you were, Oliver," Katie said, shaking her head. "You _definitely_ were."

* * *

Word count: 2,747

_A/N: I liked exploring the Draco/Scorpius relationship from the POV of someone who didn't know what to expect. Plus, ya know, I'll take any excuse to write about Katie/Oliver._


	35. Eden (RemusTonks)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 145. utter bliss)._

* * *

**Eden**

_(The World Was Wide Enough: "My love, take your time. I'll see you on the other side.")_

The park was beautiful. Remus was especially charmed by the little pond in the middle of it. There was a wide, ivy-covered stone bridge across the water, giving the scene a decidedly quaint feel.

He was thankful to be in Muggle Britain, away from the increasing threats of the wizarding world, even if only for a short time. He planned to savor every second.

"This is lovely, Dora," he said softly, squeezing his wife's hand. She smiled at him, her hair a soft plum color. A matching t-shirt was stretched over her swollen stomach, and Remus thought that she was positively glowing.

"I love it here. It was my favorite place to go as a child." He could see why.

They headed towards the bridge in relative silence, taking in the flowers and other couples and occasionally pausing to pet a dog or two. Tonks was getting tired by the time they reached the stone structure, so she indicated that she was going to sit on a bench on the opposite end of it.

"My love, take your time," she said, kissing his cheek briefly. "I'll see you on the other side."

Remus nodded, his cheek tingling pleasantly.

He stood on the bridge for a long while, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. It was a luxury that he didn't experience much anymore, and one that he sorely missed. Too often he was forced to hide away inside, or else do various jobs for the Order. There was no time to stop and just...be. Today, however, he was going to savor this Eden, this escape from reality. He breathed in deeply, catching the scents from the nearby flowers and the bakery a few blocks away.

At some point, he realized that Tonks had grown tired of waiting and was standing next to him again. He wrapped his arms around her, relishing her presence. Everything felt like it was going to be okay when he was holding her.

He didn't know how long they stood like that, embracing in the middle of the bridge, but eventually Tonks murmured, "We'd better be going, Remus."

He sighed and reluctantly pulled away. "You're right. I lost track of time."

"Easy to do here, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," was his wistful reply.

As they walked away, hand in hand, Remus took one look back at the bridge and tried to commit it to memory as best he could. After all, he didn't know if he would ever get the chance to return, and he wanted to have this happy memory to sustain him in the months ahead.

* * *

Word count: 437


	36. We're Married! (Dramione)

_Sticky sweet fluff ahead!_

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 18. Draco/Hermione.)_

* * *

**We're Married!**

_(Say No to This: "That was my wife you decided to—"/"Whaaaaaat?")_

"So why on Earth did you two invite me to your place for dinner?" Ginny asked, finishing the last few bites of her stew. She sat back and looked at the couple across from her expectantly.

Draco and Hermione exchanged a look. They had invited her over to reveal that they had eloped. Hermione was sure that her friend would be the most receptive of everyone she knew, and hoped that Ginny might help the others get used to the idea that she had married a Malfoy.

"I—_we_ wanted to talk to you about something," Hermione said, feeling more nervous than she thought she would. She grabbed Draco's hand under the table and he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Ginny's eyes widened. "Are you pregnant, 'Mione?"

"What? No!" Hermione cried. She glared at Draco, who looked like he was holding back a snicker. He quickly rearranged his features into a mask of neutrality and nodded at her to continue. "We—oh, God, why didn't I plan this out better?"

"Hermione Granger didn't plan something? I'm shocked," Ginny said with a smirk. Then her face fell. "Wait a minute, are you two breaking up?"

Hermione realized that her friend couldn't see them holding hands under the table. "Ah, no," she mumbled, staring down into her lap. This was proving to be much more difficult than she had imagined. It wasn't that she was worried about Ginny's reaction so much as the idea of saying it out loud. She was _married_. She had _eloped_. It had all been very reckless and un-Hermioneish of her, and she still couldn't quite believe that she had gone through with it.

"Do we need to talk in private? Would that help?" Ginny shot a calculating look at Draco, who stared wordlessly back.

Hermione shook her head. She wished Draco would jump in and say something, but this _had_ been her idea, and she thought Ginny might take the news better if it came from her anyway. "Do you...do you promise you won't be mad at me?"

"'Mione, what is it? You're scaring me," Ginny said anxiously. She moved around to the other side of the table and grabbed Hermione's free hand, squeezing it hard. "I won't be mad. You can tell me anything. _Anything._"

"Ouch!" Hermione gasped. "Relax your grip a little, Gin, your nails are like Hippogriff claws."

"Yes, careful, Weasley," Draco said lazily. "That was my wife you decided to—"

He started to say "manhandle," but Ginny cut him off.

"Whaaaaat?!" she shrieked. Hermione shot Draco a reproachful look. So much for _her_ being the one to tell Ginny. "You're not telling me—you two didn't—"

Hermione removed her left hand from Draco's and held it up so that Ginny could see her ring. Her friend's eyes widened comically.

"Sweet mother of Merlin, that diamond is huge!" Draco really did snicker at that, and she added sheepishly, "I mean, wow, congrats!" before giving Hermione a hug.

"Thanks, Gin," Hermione laughed.

Ginny drew back and looked at her friend sternly. "My father will hear about this," she said, imitating Draco. Hermione snorted, but Draco himself didn't look particularly amused.

"Speaking of your father, I was hoping you could help me let your family know," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "They're not going to be too pleased."

"Of course I'll help you break the news," Ginny assured her. "First things first, though. How does it feel being Mrs. Malfoy?"

Hermione turned to her husband and smiled. "It feels amazing."

* * *

Word count: 582

_A/N: For slightly less sappy Dramione, go read my one-shot Rain Checks. :) (Okay, that one is probably still a _little_ sappy.)_


	37. Revenge Bites (Fenrir Greyback)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 108. Fenrir Greyback)._

_Warning for a quick (not super graphic) description of a werewolf attack._

* * *

**Revenge Bites**

_(The Adams Administration: "As long as he can hold a [quill], he is a threat.")_

_(Washington on Your Side: "Somebody has to stand up to his mouth.")_

Fenrir Greyback paced the small, dingy cave. Lyall Lupin's derogatory comments were a constant echo in his head: _Soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death._ How dare he? The man had no idea what it was like being a werewolf, how hard it was to constantly be treated like a second-class citizen. He was just another bigoted wizard who thought he knew better than everyone else. Well, he would pay for that. Greyback would make sure of it.

He picked up the newspaper again. The name "Lyall Lupin" stared up at him in black and white and he spat on it. What a horrible article, penned by an even more horrible man.

"Er, Greyback?" a young, thin man with huge gashes on his face said hesitantly. "This Lupin bloke...what are your thoughts?"

Greyback spun around to face him. "Don't speak that name in my presence!" he roared. Somewhere nearby, a rat squeaked and scurried away.

"Sorry," the younger werewolf whispered, shrinking back. "I just thought—as long as he can hold a quill, he is a threat, right? People already hate our kind enough—"

"Too right_, _Silas. _Somebody_ has to stand up to his mouth," Greyback snarled. "And _I_ know just how to do it."

He was slowly formulating a plan. Lupin had a kid, a boy, didn't he? It would be so easy to exact his revenge by biting the child. See how Lupin felt when it was his precious son who was "soulless" and "evil." Greyback grinned suddenly, showing his sharp, yellowing teeth. "If only the full moon weren't still a few weeks away..."

The young lycanthrope stared at him with a kind of frightened awe. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to teach Lupin a lesson," was all Greyback said in response.

...

After two weeks of spying, Greyback was ready. He transformed into his wolf form under the light of the full moon, careful to station himself near the Lupin home.

Oh, this would be fun.

He already knew which window belonged to the boy based on his reconnaissance missions. From there, it was a simple matter of kicking the window open.

"Who's there?" the frightened child asked, pulling his covers up around him. Greyback laughed. Those flimsy pieces of fabric would do little to help him now.

The boy opened his mouth to scream but Greyback was already upon him, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh and feeling the warm blood spurt out. He shuddered with delight before renewing his attack with vigor. The boy had finally regained his voice and was screaming and crying with all his might.

"Stop!" The voice of Lyall Lupin came from the doorway. "_Stupefy_!" Greyback felt the sting of a spell hit him, but quickly shook it off. Stupid man. A simple Stunning spell wasn't going to work on a werewolf.

Suddenly, he felt himself blasted off his feet, away from the boy, and he let out a whimper. A flash of red light then flew towards him, eliciting a howl. Greyback had never encountered magic strong enough to hurt him before. With one final growl, he turned and ran through the broken window.

He waited out the rest of his transformation in a forest that night. The next day, he scoured all the papers he could scrounge from the bins, until he found the headline that made him cackle out loud: _Ministry Worker's Son Attacked by Werewolf. _

Perfect. His work here was done. With any luck, Lyall Lupin had learned his lesson. As for his son...Greyback hoped that he could one day recruit the boy to his cause. That would be the ultimate slap in the face to his arrogant father.

* * *

Word count: 615

_A/N: I decided to take the story of Lyall Lupin's werewolf insults one step further and make it so that he published an article in which he repeated those remarks._


	38. Boyfriend Tag (GinnyHarry)

_For the Vlog My Life Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, prompts: camera, editing, makeup.)_

_YouTuber!AU (and therefore also a Muggle!AU)._

* * *

**Boyfriend Tag**

_(Congratulations: "I will choose her happiness over mine every time.")_

"Hiiii, Weasels!" Ginny said brightly into her camera. "Today I'm here with my boyfriend, Harry—" she indicated him "—and we're going to be doing the boyfriend tag!"

The two of them were sitting next to each other on the little loveseat in Ginny's bedroom that she used almost exclusively for filming. She had placed it by the window so that she could take advantage of the early morning sunlight when possible.

Harry scooted a little closer to the device and waved sheepishly. "Hi, everyone. Er, I'm not really sure what to expect here but yeah. I hope I do okay with these questions."

Ginny squeezed his hand and made sure to gaze deeply into his eyes so that her viewers could see how perfectly in love they were. "You'll do great, Harry. The questions should be pretty easy." She turned back to the camera. "As you may know, Harry and I have been dating for two years now, so I'd say he knows me pretty well."

Harry smiled at her, and she felt her heartbeat start to quicken. "Feels like longer though, doesn't it?"

"It does," Ginny agreed, blushing. She cleared her throat and looked down at her phone. "Alright, let's rock and roll. The first question is...how did we meet?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, causing Ginny to giggle. "That's easy," he said. "We met when your mum was dropping your brother off at school."

"Yes!" Ginny said, holding out her hand for a high-five. "Right, next question: we're going out to eat, where are we going?"

Harry made a face. "Er, probably to your mum's?"

"She does make really good food, but it says we're going _out to eat_," Ginny pointed out.

"Ah, right." Harry scratched his neck nervously. "Erm...to Nando's, I suppose? You really like their chicken."

"Damn right we are," Ginny teased. "Harry doesn't like it as much," she explained to the camera, "but if he wants to keep me happy, that's where we're going."

Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek before explaining, "I will choose her happiness over mine every time. Remember that, fellas, when your girl wants to do something and you'd rather do something else. Pick the thing _she_ wants to do_._"

Ginny elbowed him and let out another giggle. "I don't think many blokes watch my channel," she reminded him under her breath.

"Well, maybe the girls will show their boyfriends or something, then," Harry whispered back. He winced. "Sorry, Gin, did I completely mess up your video?"

"I'll just edit it out," Ginny said, patting his arm. "Anyway, we'd better keep going or this will take ages."

...

Several questions in, Harry was doing very well. He had gotten them all correct, and he had only hesitated on, "If I was collecting anything, what would it be?" before finally deciding on makeup.

"I already kind of collect makeup, though," Ginny pouted. "You have to say something that I don't already collect."

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose and thought for another moment. "Er, how about...buttons?"

"Buttons?" Ginny exclaimed. "How on Earth did you come up with _that_?"

"They—they're small and cute, like you?" Harry mumbled. Ginny snorted.

"I'll accept that, but only because you called me cute."

...

"Number ten," Ginny said dramatically. "What do you think I'm talented at? And you can't say 'everything.'"

Harry's face fell. "Well, there goes that idea," he joked. "Hmm...well, you're very good at sports. You're very athletic." For the benefit of Ginny's viewers, he added, "Ginny plays _all_ the sports. You name it, she probably plays it."

"That's true," she laughed. "My regular viewers know that from my monthly segment, Sports Corner, where I talk about what I've been up to, sports-wise, each month. If you haven't already, go check those out when you're finished watching this!"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, go watch those next!" Ginny smiled proudly at him. He was a natural.

"I'm glad you're getting the hang of this YouTube thing," she said. "Maybe you could start your own channel!"

"I'm good, Gin," Harry said hastily.

Ginny turned to the camera. "Comment below if you think Harry should start his own channel, guys!"

...

Harry easily answered, "Luna," to "Who is my best friend?" and "Nachos with extra cheese!" to "I'm watching Netflix, what snack am I eating?" but he was stuck on what to say for, "If I was any one animal, what would I be?"

"I guess you'd be—can I say a weasel, or is that cheating?" he asked.

Ginny folded her arms. "Depends. Are you just saying that because my last name sounds like 'weasel' or do I actually have weasel-like qualities?"

Harry stared up at the ceiling as though he thought he might find a better answer there. "Erm, never mind, I guess you're not very weasel-like. You remind me a bit of a cat, actually."

"A cat?" Ginny said, tilting her head. "How do you figure?"

"Well, you like to sleep—"

"True!" she chimed in, laughing.

"—and you're very agile. Plus, you definitely have that nine lives thing going on," Harry finished. "You've been involved in more near-death experiences than anyone I know."

"Oh, yeah, good point!" Ginny said excitedly. "Actually, this one time, I basically got run over by a car because Fred and George decided to prank me..."

...

"Last question!" Ginny said an hour after they had begun. "This one is really sweet. If we could have the ultimate date, what would it be?"

"Oh, no pressure or anything," Harry said sarcastically. He scrunched up his features, clearly trying to think of a good response. Ginny waited, eager to hear what he would say.

"Right," he said at last. "The ultimate date for us would be going to Borough Market, where we could sample foods and walk along the South Bank, and then to a football match in the evening."

"Aww," Ginny cooed, leaning over to kiss him. "That sounds so romantic, Harry. I love it. And now that it's on the internet, you basically have to do it."

Harry groaned, but she was pretty sure he was just hamming it up for the camera. He really _was_ good at this.

"Anyway," Ginny said, preparing to do her sign off, "I hope you enjoyed our boyfriend tag. Don't forget to like, comment and subscribe, and I'll see you next time when I—" she grabbed a bottle of nail polish and held it up "—review fifteen affordable nail polish brands! Love you, Weasels!" She blew a kiss towards the camera.

Harry stood and turned off the camera before stretching his legs. "Well, that was... interesting."

"I think you meant 'fun,'" Ginny winked. Harry laughed.

"Now you have to go back and edit, right?" he asked.

Ginny nodded. "Yeah. That'll take me a little while, but hopefully I can have the video up tonight."

"Sounds good," Harry said. "Listen, Ron wants to play a game of pick-up football in the park, so I'll leave you to it."

"Have fun," Ginny said, kissing his cheek.

"Good luck with the editing," he responded. "Try not to make me look like a total idiot, alright?"

Ginny giggled. "I can't make any promises."

Harry left, and Ginny began editing the footage she had shot. A couple of times, she had to take a break due to laughing so hard, whether it was because of Harry's facial expressions or something that he had said. She knew that he hadn't been _trying _to be funny, but he _was_, and soon all of her followers would know that, too. Maybe she would even gain some new ones. Whatever happened, though, she knew that she was lucky to have a boyfriend who was willing to support her YouTube dreams.

* * *

Word count: 1,288

_A/N: I couldn't figure out a way to end this and it probably shows. I guess I could have cut it off at Ginny's last line, but I felt like this was already dialogue-heavy enough. I also didn't include all 20 questions that I found because I didn't want this to get super long, but I kind of wish I had because I thought of some fun answers for the others, too. Perhaps I'll expand this after I'm finished with this collection. _


	39. An Easy Mark (Riddle & Hepzibah)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 10. Tom Marvolo Riddle, Jr.)._

* * *

**An Easy Mark**

(Right Hand Man: "Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.")

"You're late for tea, Tom," Hepzibah pouted from her usual spot in the crowded sitting room. Her robes were a horrible pastel blue today instead of her trademark pink, but they looked no less unflattering on her.

Tom maneuvered his way over to her, past the shelves of rare books and cabinets of artifacts. They held less interest to him than the woman before him, unpleasant though she was.

"My apologies, Miss Hepzibah. I was detained at the shop," he lied smoothly. He tried never to be late for his meetings with the old woman, but it had been rather hard to convince himself to go today.

"Well, I ought to have a word with Mr. Burke about that!" she said. "Really, dear, you don't look well, he's working you entirely too hard!" Tom had heard this from her many times before, and to that, he gave the same humble reply.

"Such is the life of a shopboy."

"Always so modest," she simpered, pinching his cheek. He hated the cheek pinch, but he endured it for the sake of gaining her trust. "You'll have some tea, Tom, won't you? Oh, do say yes!"

Tom inclined his head. "How could I say no to that face?"

The old woman giggled girlishly and he repressed the urge to shudder. "Hokey! Bring a cup of tea for Tom, if you please!"

"Already on it, madam!" the old elf squeaked, and indeed, Tom could see a teacup seemingly floating towards him. He reached out to take it automatically and brought it up to his lips for a quick sip.

"How have you been, Miss Hepzibah?" he asked quietly, settling the cup back onto its saucer.

"Very well, my dear boy, very well indeed!" she trilled. She looked sideways at him, winked, and added, "Though not as well as I am now!"

Tom smiled politely and took another sip of his tea. Briefly, he contemplated what might happen if he were to grab the ornate wooden duck from the nearest table and start bashing her over the head with it. No, he would dispose of her later, once she had served her purpose.

"Did you see that my dear friend Percival Hornby passed away the other day, Tom? It was all over the papers. He was well-connected, you know," Hepzibah said, sounding quite pompous.

He nodded. It was best to let her do all of the talking—making any comments himself was like adding fuel to a fire and just made her blabber on more.

"May I let you in on a little secret, Tom?" Hepzibah whispered conspiratorially, adjusting her ginger wig in a manner that she no doubt thought discreet. "Just a bit of wisdom from an old woman who's seen an awful lot in her lifetime?"

"Certainly, Miss Hepzibah," he said, his voice as sweet as he could stand to make it, "though there is no way I could ever associate the word 'old' with you." Hepzibah beamed and leaned forward, enveloping him in the overwhelming, sickly scent of her perfume.

"Dying is easy, young man," she said, dramatically. "Living is harder."

"Indeed?" he murmured. "What an interesting thought."

"Oh, I just knew you'd think so!" Hepzibah exclaimed. "As soon as it came to me, I told myself, 'You simply must tell Tom the next time he comes by!'"

Tom smirked indulgently at her. The old woman really was foolish, though she flattered herself otherwise. But she liked him, and she trusted him, and, well, that was all that mattered. He would put up with any manner of behavior from her so long as he came away with what he wanted in the end.

* * *

Word count: 610


	40. Andromeda's Warning (Narcissa)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 79. Andromeda Tonks)._

* * *

**Andromeda's Warning**

_(Burn: "You've married an Icarus. He has flown too close to the sun.")_

"Cissy, are you familiar with the story of Icarus?" Andromeda asks.

Narcissa looks up from her steak to find her sister watching her closely. Though her tone was casual, it is clear Andromeda has been waiting all evening to broach this subject. Narcissa carefully sets down her fork and raises an eyebrow.

"Somewhat," she replies. "Why do you ask?"

"I'll get to that." Andromeda leans forward. "Are you happy in your marriage to Lucius?"

Narcissa frowns. Her sister is hinting at something, something she doesn't wish to say outright, and Narcissa doesn't have time for such games. "What exactly are you getting at, Andromeda?"

Andromeda falters under her piercing gaze. "I—nothing. Nothing at all."

"It's clearly something, or you wouldn't have brought it up," Narcissa says shrewdly, pushing a piece of meat around on her plate, appetite gone.

Her sister clasps and unclasps her hands a few times before blurting out, "Surely you're aware of Lucius' commitment to the Dark Lord?"

"Of course." Narcissa's voice takes on an icy tone. "My husband confides in me about everything."

She isn't being particularly truthful. Lucius keeps many secrets from her, but she isn't about to tell her sister that. She has no doubt that Andromeda's husband tells _her_ everything, and she finds herself irked by the very idea.

"You realize your husband's loyalties are putting _my_ husband in grave danger?" Andromeda says quietly. The pain etched onto her face is clear as day, but Narcissa pretends not to notice.

"Lucius is looking out for the good of wizardkind," she says instead, picking up her wine glass and taking a dainty sip of the dark red liquid.

Andromeda's laugh is bitter. "You don't even see it, do you?"

"See what?" Narcissa demands, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"You've married an Icarus," her sister says, an almost pitying look on her face. "He has flown too close to the sun."

Narcissa's features harden. "We couldn't all marry for _love_, now, could we? Some of us fulfilled our duty." She stands gracefully. "I have entertained you long enough, Andromeda. It's time you went home."

Her sister collects her purse and leaves, but not before turning to Narcissa one final time. "Please think about what I said," she says, then vanishes into the night.

Narcissa sighs and calls on Dobby to clear away the dishes of unfinished food. Dinner with Andromeda was a disastrous idea, and she feels foolish for letting hope persuade her otherwise. Her sister is never going to change. Narcissa knows this, because she has that stubborn Black streak, too.

* * *

Word count: 425

_A/N: So we're nearing the end of the month and the end of the prompts, and I'm feeling less and less inspired as I go through the dregs of them (and I'm probably burned out, let's be real), so...just keep that in mind. _


	41. Unchanging (HarryDaphne)

**Unchanging**

_(Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story: "You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.")_

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this," Harry confessed, staring down at his feet. Daphne took his hand and squeezed it gently, forcing him to look at her.

"Ready for...?"

"For the whole world to know about us. About...this." He gestured at Daphne's stomach, which she rubbed absentmindedly with her other hand.

"This was your idea, Harry. Are you...having second thoughts about me?" She turned away to hide the wave of emotions that were playing out on her features: hurt, anger, fear.

"Never, Daph. I would never." The conviction in his voice was enough to make her face him once more.

"Are you worried about what everyone will think, then?" She bit her lip. It hadn't occurred to her that _Harry_ would be the one having second thoughts about telling everyone. He never seemed to care much about what everyone else thought.

"No, of course not," he said quickly. "It's just going to be a lot for people to take in, you know? The questions are going to be overwhelming."

"I'll be by your side the whole time," Daphne said to remind herself as well as him. "We'll get through this press conference together."

Harry blew out a breath. "People are going to learn about your involvement with the Order. They're going to call you a traitor and make you feel guilty about the people who died fighting for Voldemort. Your family, your Slytherin friends...they're too proud to forgive easily. Are you prepared for that, Daph?" He ran a hand through his hair, looking more worried than Daphne had ever seen him.

The fact that he was more worried about _her_ comfort than his own made her feel more at ease somehow, and she felt her heartbeat begin to slow. Harry was always so considerate, and she knew that when the baby arrived, he would be equally attentive towards him or her. How lucky she was to have found such a caring, supportive partner. She was asking as much of him as he was of her, after all. She wasn't naive—this press conference exposing her role in the war and their subsequent relationship may have been his idea, but he was bound to lose a few supporters himself, and she was asking him to choose her anyway.

She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back reassuringly. "It's sweet of you to be so concerned, Harry, but I think I've figured out what I'm going to tell them. Do you know what I plan to say?"

Harry shook his head.

"'You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.' Because that's just it—you don't. So much in life is left to fate, or chance, or whatever you want to call it, and there's not a damn thing you can do about that."

"Just so you know, you sound like a fortune cookie," Harry grumbled affectionately. "Or Hermione," he added as an afterthought.

Daphne couldn't help but laugh. "I'm flattered that you think I sound anything like Hermione Granger. That witch is far cleverer than me."

"You're clever in your own way," Harry insisted, pressing a kiss to her temple. Daphne closed her eyes for a moment.

"Everything's about to change, isn't it?" she asked quietly, unable to keep the slight wobble out of her voice.

Harry tucked a tendril of dark hair behind her ear and fixed his eyes on hers. "Everything except us, Daph. Nothing will ever change you and me. I promise."

She squared her shoulders and raised her head high as his words flooded her with a sudden sense of courage. "Then let's do this."

And with that, she pushed the door open and led him towards the blinding camera flashes.

* * *

Word count: 620

_A/N: My take on the "Daphne fought for the Order" thing that I've seen a bunch of people do. This may have made more sense in my head than it does written out, though._


	42. Sabotage (platonic Perciver)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 9. Percy Weasley). _

* * *

**Sabotage**

_(Hurricane: "This is the only way I can protect my legacy.")_

Percy hadn't expected to befriend Oliver Wood. The other boy was something of a Quidditch fanatic, while Percy couldn't care less about the sport. Oliver was also outgoing and considerably more popular, and not nearly studious enough for Percy's liking. No, Percy didn't think he had enough in common with his roommate to ever become friends with him, but he was okay with that.

Of course, that all changed one day in first year when Percy went looking for Oliver in the Quidditch changing rooms. Oliver had mentioned that he was planning to go flying that afternoon, and Percy had realized that his roommate was the perfect person to seek help from in regards to flying class. Oliver was a terrific flier, and he wouldn't make fun of Percy for needing help. Percy would have asked Charlie, but he didn't want to bother him.

He entered the changing rooms and stopped short at the sight of Oliver hunched over in the corner. Percy had spent enough time around Fred and George to know when someone was acting suspiciously.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked loudly. Oliver jumped, and Percy could see that the other boy had been sprinkling something onto a broomstick with a gloved hand. He peered more closely at a scrawled name at the top of its handle and tried to remember where he had heard the name before. "Isn't that the Slytherin Seeker's broom?"

"No," Oliver said, but his response was too hasty to be convincing.

"I don't believe you. How in Merlin's name did you manage to get your hands on it?" Percy wanted to know.

"The idiot forgot to put it away. Dunno if you've noticed, but Michael Flint isn't exactly the brightest wand in the bunch," Oliver said, shrugging. Then he grinned. "Good thing I was here putting in extra practice and happened to see it."

"But what are you putting on it?" Percy demanded, trying his hardest to emulate his mother.

"Erm..." Oliver belatedly tried to hide the tin behind his back, but Percy, who was good at speed-reading, was able to read some of the packaging before he did so.

"Itching powder?" he said incredulously. "You're putting _itching powder_ on the Slytherin Seeker's broom?"

"This is the only way I can protect my legacy," Oliver replied. "Erm, well, _assure_ it, anyway. See, I'm going to be part of the best Quidditch team Hogwarts has ever seen. I'm too young to join this year, but I still want to help Gryffindor any way I can. If they could just win a few more matches, it would help boost morale so that when I come in next year—that's assuming I make the team, but I'm sure I will—everyone will be at the top of their game and I will go down in Hogwarts history as having been a part of it."

Oliver had said all of this very quickly, and Percy was struggling to follow the other boy's logic. Oliver's plan wasn't making sense to him in more ways than one, the chief one being—

"You're going to protect—_assure_—your 'legacy' by cheating?" he asked dubiously. "If you get caught, your legacy will be that you helped Gryffindor win by cheating."

"Well, it's not _cheating_, it's..." Oliver's shoulders slumped. "Alright, it's kind of cheating, but Gryffindor _has_ to win. We just have to!"

Percy folded his arms. "My mother taught me to play nicely. What you're doing isn't fair. If Gryffindor can't win without cheating, then they don't deserve to win."

"Are you going to turn me in, then?" Oliver said, squaring his shoulders. "I would have thought you would want a Gryffindor victory against Slytherin, too."

Percy thought for a moment. Oliver had always been nice to him; in fact, he was one of the few people who didn't go out of his way to tease him or act like Percy was a walking oddity. Nor had he ever shouted, "Nerd alert!" when Percy walked into a room, unlike some of their classmates. And Percy _did_ want to see Slytherin taken down a peg, just like the rest of Gryffindor. He supposed house loyalties had to count for something, and that was why, he informed Oliver, he would not be telling on him.

"You have my, er, blessing," he finished lamely.

Oliver looked immensely relieved to hear that. "You want to throw a bit on there, then, Perce?"

Percy blinked, both at the unexpected nickname and the invitation to join the sabotage. Fred and George had never asked him to join in their pranks, knowing him to be above such things, but here Oliver was, thinking Percy might want to help.

Perhaps it would be best to go along with it. Perhaps this would make him seem cool. Not that Percy cared about being cool, _per se_, but it could be a nice bonding experience. As much as he liked to pretend that he didn't need friends, he was rather lonely with only his older brothers to talk to, and they never really went out of their way to include him anyway.

Percy stretched out his hand and took the container of itching powder. "Sure," he said, and carefully shook a little powder onto the handle of the broom.

"You're not afraid this'll affect your chances at Prefect?" the other boy said curiously. "I thought you were dying to get that badge, you talk about it often enough."

"It'll only affect my chances if we're caught, and we won't be caught," Percy said, feeling rather confident all of a sudden. Maybe this was how people with friends felt all the time. If so, he could get used to it.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "You sound mighty sure about that."

Percy shrugged. "My brothers Fred and George—they're not at Hogwarts yet, but you'll meet them next year—get away with loads of stuff. I suppose I've picked up a trick or two about keeping out of trouble from them."

"There are more of you Weasleys?" Oliver asked, sounding awed.

"Yes, four more, to be exact," Percy said.

"Wow. I hope you've got more good fliers in your family, that'd be great," Oliver laughed, clapping Percy on the back. Startled by the gesture of comradery, Percy dropped the tin, but the other boy's quick reflexes saved it from spilling onto the floor.

"Good save," Percy muttered, blushing fiercely. "And yes, my younger siblings all enjoy flying. I'm sort of the odd one out in that regard. In fact, I was hoping you might be able to help me improve."

Oliver replaced the lid to the itching powder tightly, studying him. Percy felt his neck grow warm at the scrutiny, but he resolutely kept his gaze on the other boy. Finally, Oliver nodded. "I can do that." He suddenly slung an arm around Percy's neck, and Percy was very glad not to be holding anything that time. "You know, you're alright, Perce."

From that moment on, Oliver and Percy were tentative friends, and, many years later, even better ones. After all, there were just some things that Percy couldn't share without ending up liking someone, and sabotaging the competition was one of them.

* * *

Word count: 1,197

_A/N: Michael Flint is a made-up older brother of Marcus Flint. Also, I tried to make the end of this parallel to that of the end of Chapter 10 of Sorcerer's Stone ("Halloween") because I saw some similarities between how Harry and Ron's friendship with Hermione began and how Percy's friendship with Oliver began (ie. straight-laced person does something they normally wouldn't and the other person gains respect for them because of it). Don't worry, though, Oliver and Percy quickly grew out of their sabotaging ways! _


	43. Closing Time (HannahNeville)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 87. Neville Longbottom)._

_A Bakery!AU._

* * *

**Closing Time**

_(I Know Him: "That poor man, they're going to eat him alive.")_

It was closing time at Hannah's bakery, but it seemed that forces outside of her control were conspiring to keep her there late.

Or rather, a single force named Neville.

He walked through the door at five minutes to six, shuffling his feet a little, just as he always did. Hannah removed her flour-covered apron and smiled kindly at him.

"What'll it be tonight, love?"

Neville seemed a bit surprised by the question, even though he had been coming by every night for the past week and had answered that same inquiry each time.

"Er...two red velvet cupcakes, please. And maybe...erm...dinner sometime?" His face turned bright red. "Sorry, no, that just slipped out, I'm sure you don't want—"

"A dinner date? That depends. Are you going to break my heart?" Hannah teased.

Neville gulped. "What? No, of course not! I would never—"

"Relax, Neville," she giggled, patting his arm. "Dinner sounds lovely." She turned to the glass display case on her left and selected two cupcakes, which she then placed in a little paper sack. When she turned back to Neville, she found that he was just opening and closing his mouth without making a sound, giving him the appearance of a fish. "Alright there, love? It's just dinner, not a life sentence."

"R—right," he finally managed. "No, of course not." He wiped his hands on his robes and took the bag of cupcakes from Hannah.

"Would you like to stay for a few minutes?" Hannah asked. "I can make us a spot of tea."

"Oh, well, I suppose you'll want to be getting home—"

"To an empty house? Not really," Hannah confessed. Neville's face went even redder.

"Alright," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I suppose I can stay for a moment."

Hannah beamed and hurried away to make two steaming cups of tea. Secretly, she was very pleased with how her night was going. She had been wondering if Neville was working up the courage to ask her out based on his many frequent visits, and it was flattering to know that she had been right. Neville had become one of her best friends after the war, and she often thought about what it might be like to date him. He was always so sweet to everyone, however, that it had been hard to tell if he liked her romantically.

When she returned, Neville was sitting at one of the bakery's bright, lemon yellow tables, tapping his foot. Hannah sat down across from him and handed him a powder blue teacup. He quickly took a sip from it, seemingly for want of something new to do.

"How was your day, Neville?" she asked, taking a sip from her own lilac-colored cup.

"My day was good," Neville replied in his usual mild-mannered way. "I got to spend a few hours in the greenhouses by myself, which was nice. How was yours?"

"Mine was wonderful," Hannah said with great enthusiasm. "One customer placed a huge order for an upcoming birthday party, and another bought all of my triple chocolate cookies."

"That's great, Hannah." Neville flashed her a shy smile. "Those cookies are the best."

"You say that about all of my creations," she joked.

Neville shrugged. "It's true," he muttered, staring down at his teacup.

"How's Harry these days?" she asked, hoping to lure him into conversation again.

He blinked, clearly startled by the abrupt subject change. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes." She couldn't help adding, "Do we know any other Harrys?"

"No, I suppose not," he said. "He's...fine, I reckon. Well...I dunno, actually. He's going to have a baby, did you hear?"

"Of course, it was all over the papers." It was practically all anyone was talking about, that the Boy Who Lived—the savior of the wizarding world—was having a baby. Hannah had never seen people so excited, except after the Dark Lord had been vanquished for good. She frowned. "You think he's scared of being a father?"

"Oh, no. I just meant that he's probably being swarmed by reporters at the moment." Neville took another sip of tea.

"That poor man, they're going to eat him alive," Hannah said, shaking her head sympathetically.

Neville hummed in agreement. "It's got to be hard for him, he just wanted a nice, quiet life after...everything, but the press won't leave him alone."

He seemed a lot more relaxed at this point. Bringing up Harry had been a good idea—Hannah had noticed that Neville liked talking about other people more than himself.

She told him a little bit more about the large birthday party order and asked when he wanted to go to dinner. By now, they had both finished their drinks, much to Hannah's disappointment, for she knew her friend would see that as his cue to leave.

Sure enough, Neville stood and mumbled something about going home. "Thanks for the tea, Hannah," he added at a slightly louder volume.

"You're welcome," she said, smiling. She reached out and gave him a quick hug, which he timidly returned. He looked quite pleased, though.

"Oh, hang on." He pulled away to dig around in the pocket of his robes. Finally, he pulled out a handful of Sickles. "For the cupcakes."

Hannah waved her hand. "My treat, love."

"Thanks," Neville said again, putting the coins away. "So I'll...see you Friday?"

She nodded. In her head, she was already picking out potential outfits. "See you Friday, Neville."

* * *

Word count: 913


	44. Along Came a Spider (RonLavender)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 21. red, orange, yellow)._

_Warning: Swearing! Lots of swearing!_

_Muggle!AU._

* * *

**Along Came a Spider**

_(The Room Where It Happens: "All he had to do was die."/"That's a lot less work.")_

The spider was huge.

Really fucking huge. So huge, in fact, that Lavender's knees almost gave way at the mere _sight_ of it. And then it moved, and she screamed a _lot_, because where the hell did that bloody _thing_ even come from anyway?

She did the first thing that she could think of after screaming her head off: she ran. She ran out of her flat and almost ran _into_ her neighbor. Her _really cute_ neighbor. Fuck.

"You okay?" he chuckled, sweeping his red hair from his face and peering at her with his _gorgeous_ baby blue eyes. Lavender was so distracted that she almost forgot why she was in the hallway in the first place, but she soon remembered.

"No, I'm not. There's a big fucking spider in my tub!"

"Oh." Redheaded Cutie coughed and started to inch back towards his own flat. "Well, I just remembered I, erm, left the kettle on. I'd better go-"

"Please don't... don't go!" Lavender was pretty sure that she had bypassed hysterical a long time ago. "Don't leave us to this! Please!"

"Us?" her neighbor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My roommate and I," she explained. "She's out right now, but she'll be back soon and _she's_ not going to be any help. Look, I know we've never really talked before but you _have_ to help me."

Redheaded Cutie clearly took pity on her, because he said, "I'll have a look."

Lavender let out a squeal. "Oh, thank you so much! I'm Lavender, by the way." She batted her eyelashes at him.

"I'm Ron," her neighbor said, gazing at her admiringly.

Lavender praised the gods above for allowing her to learn her cute neighbor's name. Wait, now that she thought about it, her horoscope had said something about overcoming an obstacle with the help of a handsome stranger...

She led Ron towards her flat and flung the door open dramatically. "It's in the bathroom, like I said," she whispered, using her low voice as an excuse to lean closer to him. He smelled delicious, like spearmint toothpaste.

Ron followed her through the flat, finally coming to a halt in the hallway outside of Lavender's bedroom. She looked impatiently at him.

"It's just a little further, Ron," she said, tugging his hand. His _hand_. With any luck, she would be sitting on his lap by the end of this most traumatizing ordeal. Surely he wouldn't mind her doing _that_.

Ron's face was suddenly ashen, however. "I dunno about this, Lavender. I—I don't really like spiders, you see."

Lavender giggled. He was so funny! "Does _anyone_ like spiders, Ron?"

"I suppose not." He took a deep breath and walked to the bathroom door, gingerly pushing it open. A moment later he was back in the hallway again.

"Well?" Lavender demanded. "What are you going to do?"

"Bloody hell, I—I'm not sure if I _can_ do anything." Ron looked as though he might cry. It wasn't a good look on him.

"What if you ran the water and dumped some on top of it?" Lavender suggested. "I'm sure we've got a bucket around here somewhere."

Ron scratched his neck, looking unconvinced. "Erm, I guess it's worth a shot?"

Lavender hurried to check the linen closet for a bucket. She found a small yellow one with a mop in it and brought it back to Ron. He didn't seem too pleased that she had managed to find one, but maybe he didn't like killing innocent creatures. Whatever. That spider was _far_ from innocent as far as Lavender was concerned.

"Go on, handsome," she cooed at the redhead, "a little water should kill it quickly and painlessly."

Ron took the bucket and started into the bathroom, a determined look on his face. Lavender watched him go, her eyes glued to his fine bum.

Suddenly, a mostly un-manly scream erupted from the room, and Ron reappeared next to her, panting. "The bastard moved! He bloody _moved_!"

"Was that before or after you dumped water on, er, him?" she asked, stifling a giggle. He was kind of adorable when he was frightened.

"Before!" he exclaimed.

Lavender sighed. "Alright, I'll give it a go." She paused. "You know, I might not survive this, so..." She quickly reached up and kissed him. "That's to remember me by."

Ron looked dazed, and Lavender was quite pleased that she had managed to elicit such a reaction from him. She soon sobered, however, remembering the task that lay ahead. Inching into the bathroom, she found that her neighbor had been telling the truth. The spider, which had been near the drain at the bottom of the tub, was now crawling up the wall. Fuck.

Lavender grabbed the still-empty bucket from the floor and filled it in the sink before approaching the spider. "Ergh," she said to herself. It was so _ugly_. And _creepy_. She closed her eyes (the spider may not have been innocent, but she still didn't want to see it _die_) and tipped the bucket over as fast as she could. When she opened them again, she realized that not only had she completely missed her target, but that said target had moved out of the shower entirely and onto the orange wallpaper. Where Lavender could _not_ dump water on it. Double fuck.

She scurried out of the room and smack into Ron. "He moved again," she gasped, steadying herself on his rather muscular arm. "He crawled off the tile, so we can't use water to get rid of him."

Ron made a noise of frustration and ran his fingers through his hair as Lavender watched approvingly. "That bastard! Of _course_ he moved again. He's probably going to crawl all over the place," he said with a groan.

"You're right. All he had to do was _die_," Lavender pouted. That would certainly have made her life a whole lot easier.

"That's a lot less work," Ron agreed. "For him _and _for us. He's just prolonging the inevitable while we drive ourselves mad trying to figure out how to kill him."

"I don't know what to do about him anymore," Lavender said, sighing. Honestly, if the bloody thing would just _allow_ itself to be killed...but that would be much too simple, apparently. She wondered if she could squish it, but the thought of doing so made her feel sick.

"You'll figure something out," Ron said bracingly.

Lavender patted his arm. "You're so sweet, Ron. And you did your best to help me. You should really be rewarded for your bravery."

Ron stared dumbly at her. "Rewarded? But I didn't do anything."

"You kept me company!" Lavender insisted. "_And_ you came to my rescue when I asked. I think you deserve to take me out on a date."

"R—really? Am I dreaming?" Ron's eyes were wide. "I mean—yeah, that would be great!"

"It's settled, then," Lavender said with a smile and a toss of her hair.

He frowned. "What are you going to do about the spider, though?"

She had somehow forgotten about that in her haste to acquire a date. "Right now, closing the door and never going in there again is looking like the best plan." Ron laughed and walked towards the sitting room with her.

Just then, Parvati entered the flat, looking very confused. "Lav? What's going on? Hang on—is that our neighbor you're always jabbering on about?"

Lavender blushed slightly, but it was nothing compared to the red on Ron's face and ears. "God, Parvati—Ron, this is my roommate, Parvati—_yes_. Ron was trying to help me get rid of the bloody spider in the bathroom!"

Parvati giggled. "Oooh, how romantic."

"It wasn't romantic. I failed," Ron mumbled, scuffing at the floor with the toe of his shoe.

Parvati eyed him and giggled again. "Lucky for both of you, I have plenty of experience with spiders. They don't bother me." With that, she crossed to the bathroom. She emerged half a minute later holding the spider in her bare hands.

Lavender's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, Parvati, you can't just touch that—that _thing_!" she shrieked.

Parvati shrugged and crossed to a window to let it out. "I'll wash my hands, Lav, don't worry."

Lavender pointed a finger at her. "You'd better." Turning to Ron, she added, "Well, thanks again for all your help."

Ron nodded, seemingly unable to speak. It was only after Parvati coughed loudly and said she would give the two some space that he finally responded. "No problem, Lavender. I'll, er, see you around, will I?"

"You know it," Lavender winked. "We've got a date, after all."

As soon as Ron left, she collapsed onto the sofa with a contented sigh. Perhaps this whole spider thing had been a blessing in disguise. She _had _managed to get a date out of it, and a really cute one, at that. As if that wasn't enough, she had also learned that her roommate, tiny Parvati Patil, was a fucking _badass_. Yes, what had at first seemed like the end of the world had really been a great experience. Lavender would happily go through it all again...well, minus the scary spider part.

* * *

Word count: 1,524

_A/N: I'm not sure if I was able to make the prompt make sense in this context but I'm going with it. _


	45. Learning to Lead (AngelinaKatie)

**Learning to Lead**

_(Farmer Refuted: "My dog speaks more eloquently.")_

Angelina has never felt like much of a leader. Probably because Oliver was...well, he was a whole category unto himself when it came to being Quidditch Captain, but there's no denying that he was the epitome of what a leader should be. Angelina has big shoes to fill, and she isn't sure she's up to the task.

Everyone expects her to be excited when she gets the letter confirming her as Captain of the Gryffindor team, but she isn't. Sure, she's competitive and she likes to win, too, but she's just not ready for this.

How is anyone going to look to her as their leader when she doesn't even consider herself one?

...

It's Katie who makes her believe she can do it.

"I wish Oliver had stayed an extra year," Angelina says glumly, allowing Katie to stroke her braided hair.

"Angie," the younger girl says in the calmest, most serious voice Angelina has ever heard her use, "you've got this. I know you do."

Angelina curls herself into Katie's chest and sighs. "I should never have been made Captain. It was a mistake. Oliver was a—a _leader_, Katie. I'm not."

Her girlfriend shakes her head. "Don't sell yourself short, love."

"I thought _I _was the serious one in this relationship," Angelina mumbles, but she's secretly grateful for the support.

"You are," Katie assures her, kissing her temple.

...

"You're in, Ron," Angelina says, "but you'll need to put in some serious practice if you want to make Gryffindor proud."

"Right," the red-haired boy mumbles, staring at the ground.

"Might want to practice getting used to the taunts, too," she says, a little more gently.

She claps him on the shoulder just as a fourth year Slytherin hisses, "I can't believe Gryffindor wanted someone with so little talent on their team. It's like they don't even care about winning anymore."

"Mosley, my dog speaks more eloquently. Now get lost before I hex you," Angelina snaps, and the dark-haired boy scampers off with a snicker. She turns back to Ron, shaking her head. "I don't even _have _a dog."

Ron looks at her admiringly. "Thanks."

"No problem, just...try and do it yourself next time," Angelina says quickly. "I won't always be around to protect you."

...

"Hey, I overhead Ron talking to his friends at dinner," Katie says, barging into Angie's dorm room without knocking.

Angelina turns to look at her. "So?" she asks, raising a brow.

"_So_ he said you helped defend him against that prat Mosley," Katie says, as though that explains everything.

Angelina sinks down onto her bed. Katie joins her a moment later, fitting herself into Angelina's lap.

"I feel like I'm missing something, Katie," the older girl says with a frown. "What's your point?"

"My _point_," her girlfriend says petulantly, "is that doing that was very leader-y of you."

Angelina laughs and nuzzles Katie's hair. "First of all, 'leader-y' isn't a word. Second of all, that was just a reflexive response. It doesn't say anything about my leadership abilities."

Katie merely shrugs and plays with one of Angelina's braids. "It shows that you're adept at conflict management. Or something."

"Conflict manage—when did you learn so much about leadership?" Angelina asks suspiciously, tugging her braid out of the other girl's grasp.

"Hermione Granger might have lent me a book or two," Katie says, blushing.

"You little sneak!" Angelina cries, but she's impressed by her girlfriend's initiative. Perhaps Katie should have been Captain, not her. When she tells Katie as much, however, all she gets in response is a laugh.

"You're the serious one, remember?" Katie giggles.

Somehow, "serious" doesn't feel like enough of a qualification. Angelina feels like she's flying by the seat of her pants. Someday soon, everyone will see her for the imposter she is.

...

The first day of practice is sunny, just as Angelina hoped it would be. At least this way, she has one less thing to worry about.

"It'll be fine," Katie reassures her that morning at breakfast. She slips an arm around Angelina's waist to draw her closer, whispering, "And even if it isn't, I've got a bottle of firewhisky in my trunk that we can share."

Angelina laughs, but she's never felt more apprehensive. She feels like she's about to take a test where everyone else knows all the answers and she's left to guess at them.

...

"Alright, team!" Angelina shouts. "Let's start with some drills!"

The Chasers fly up and down the pitch, passing the Quaffle back and forth, while Harry and Ron weave in and out of the Bludgers the Weasley twins send their way.

"Looking good, everyone! Now we're going to practice scoring on Ron!"

...

Angelina tries not to let her negative attitude about practice show. After all, it's only the first one. Maybe Ron will improve.

And maybe she's the Queen of England.

But she doesn't let on that this was the worst practice she's ever been a part of. Instead, she says, "I know things were a little rocky out there, but they can only get better from here! Just keep up the hard work, everyone!"

Later, when everyone else has left the changing rooms, Katie tells her that it's very leader-like of her to keep up the team's morale. Angelina brushes off the comment and goes to shower, but her girlfriend's words echo in her head the rest of the evening.

...

The next few practices are as abysmal as the first. Angelina complains frequently to Katie about the stress and overwhelming helplessness she feels, and Katie responds by pointing out the way she provides positive reinforcement, encourages teamwork, and shows empathy.

"All things a good leader would do," she reminds her each time.

After one particularly brutal practice, Angelina throws herself onto her bed with a loud sigh. "We're going to lose to Slytherin," she says, her voice muffled by her pillow. "I mean, unless by some miracle Ron manages to pull himself together."

Katie climbs onto the bed and rubs her back.I know things aren't looking too good—"

"An understatement if I ever heard one," Angelina mutters.

"—but you've lead the team well so far given Harry's absences and Ron's, er, challenges," her girlfriend finishes.

"I have, haven't I?" Angelina says slowly, sitting up and brushing her braids away from her face. "Throw in the Weasley twins and Umbridge on top of that and it's a miracle the team is still standing."

"Definitely," Katie nods. "I'm telling you, Angie, you're doing a terrific job."

Angelina kisses her, hard, trying to convey some of her gratitude through the action. "Thanks believing in me."

"I'll always believe in you, love."

Angelina has never felt like much of a leader, but she's starting to feel like one now.

* * *

Word count: 1,123

_A/N: I really like the idea behind this. If I'd had more time, I might have been able to execute it properly. I might go back and edit/expand it later._

_I have two more prompts to go, but I'm not sure I'll finish within the month. Still, 45 isn't too shabby! _


	46. Fatherhood Fears (Arthur & Bill)

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 4. The Burrow)._

* * *

**Fatherhood Fears**

_(Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story: "When my time is up, have I done enough?")_

"You alright, son?" Arthur asked, drawing his son away from the rest of the family. Bill and Fleur had just announced that they were expecting their first child, and Arthur could tell that Bill, while excited, was also nervous by the way that he kept fiddling with his earring and smiling a little _too_ brightly.

Bill sank onto the couch in the sitting room of the Burrow. After a moment, he spoke. "I'm...a bit scared, Dad. I mean, I have no idea what to expect here. I...I love adventure and new experiences but this—this feels so..."

"Permanent?" Arthur suggested, sitting next to him. "Like the consequences will be so much worse if you somehow mess up?"

Bill nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. And I...God, I love my life, you know? I love how things are _now_. What if this kid changes all of that?"

"They will," Arthur said honestly, squeezing his eldest son's shoulder. "They will change everything, Bill, but you have always astounded me with your ability to adapt."

Bill put his head in his hands, his hair swinging down to hide his face. "What if I screw this kid up, though, Dad?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled. "What if my best just isn't...good enough?"

"That's been one of my biggest fears as a parent, too, you know," Arthur said gently. "When my time is up, have I done enough? But I like to think I've done alright by you kids."

"Of course you have, Dad." Bill startled him by wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. "You've been the best dad any of us could have ever hoped for."

Arthur could feel himself choking up. "Fatherhood isn't always easy," he rasped, "but I have every confidence that you and Fleur will weather every storm that comes your way, together. You just have to believe in yourself and in the power of love. I know it sounds cheesy, but as long as you love that kid with everything you have, you'll know you've done everything you can."

"Thanks, Dad," Bill said, his eyes starting to look a little watery.

Arthur patted his son's hand. "Anytime."

Bill seemed to regain his usual confidence over the next few minutes, for which Arthur was glad. He knew that his son had nothing to worry about—he would be an amazing father. He cleared his throat. "We should go and rejoin the others, they'll be wondering where we've got to. But if you ever need to talk, son, I'm here for you."

Bill nodded and thanked him again before returning to the kitchen where the rest of the family was still laughing and celebrating the news over plates of Molly's excellent pot roast. Arthur remained in the sitting room for another minute, composing himself. He felt for his son—he himself had been equally afraid when his wife had been pregnant with Bill. Everything had turned out okay, though. _More_ than okay, really. His eldest had grown up to be a fine young man with a good head on his shoulders and a heart ready to love the newest addition to the family. Arthur knew that despite his son's fears, everything would turn out okay for him, too.

After a few more deep breaths, Arthur headed back to the kitchen with a smile on his face. He was going to be a grandfather in less than a year's time, and he couldn't wait to spoil his future grandchild.

* * *

Word count: 584

_A/N: I lied. I managed one more! At this rate I miiiight be able to crank out the last one, but we'll see. _


	47. Drama is a Friend of Mine (GinnyBlaise)

_My take on the "we're pretending we hate each other so no one suspects we're dating" trope._

_For the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 3. anger)._

_Warning for a somewhat unhealthy relationship. _

* * *

**Drama is a Friend of Mine**

_(Your Obedient Servant: "If you've got something to say, name a time and place, face to face.")_

Ginny stalked into the Great Hall, seething. "Zabini!"

...

_"Oi, Weasley!" Pansy Parkinson called after her. _

_Ginny huffed and continued to make her way to Transfiguration. If she was late again, McGonagall would probably give her detention. Whatever Pansy had to say to her could wait. _

_"Weasley!" the other girl's voice had reached an alarmingly high pitch. _

_"What?" Ginny snapped, still walking. Her bag was digging into her shoulder, but she would be able to slide it off as soon as she got to the classroom...if only Pansy would leave her alone so she could get there unbothered. By this time, however, Pansy had managed to catch up with her and was now scurrying beside her. _

_"Blaise has some hot gossip on you," the Slytherin said smugly. _

_"I doubt that," the redhead ground out. "Zabini only wishes he had anything on me." _

_"Oh, but he does!" Ginny hadn't seen Pansy look so delighted since Malfoy had come up with those stupid Potter Stinks badges the previous year. Ginny kept plodding towards her class. Pansy was lying. She had to be. _

_"So what is it, Parkinson?" she spat. "This 'hot gossip'?"_

_"He says you're his girlfriend," Pansy crowed. _

_All the blood rushed to Ginny's ears and she stopped suddenly, whipping her head towards the other girl. "Excuse me?" Her voice was deadly soft. There was no way Blaise would have told _Pansy Parkinson _about them...was there? _

_Pansy giggled. It was a menacing sort of noise coming from her, and Ginny shivered. "Well, I suppose 'girlfriend' isn't quite the right label...more like a lapdog?"_

_Ginny had had enough. She was going to be late for class as it was, but now, to find out that Blaise had inferred that she was a_ pet...she_ was livid. _

_All through Transfiguration, she found it hard to focus. She couldn't think of anything besides Blaise and his complete lack of regard for her reputation._

_..._

The tall Slytherin merely rolled his eyes and continued to eat a piece of steak. Ginny stormed over and hissed, "Really, Zabini? You told _Parkinson_ about us?"

"She was bound to find out eventually, darling," he smirked. "That girl _knows_ things. Anyway, you're supposed to be pretending to hate my guts, aren't you? Tsk, tsk. You're losing your touch, Weasley."

Ginny straightened, genuinely furious. "I can't believe you!" she half-shouted, half-whispered. "Parkinson will have the whole school informed by the end of dinner!"

"No sense getting angry about it, Weasley, what's done is done." Blaise returned to his plate and speared a piece of meat, which he then popped into his mouth, grinning as he did so. "Besides, you're doing a fine job spreading the word all by yourself."

"I—you—"

"I helped you, you know," he continued in that irritatingly calm voice. "Your personal life was in _desperate_ need of some drama."

"Zabini, if you've got something to say, name a time and place, face to face," she said loudly, more for the benefit of her classmates than him. "Then we'll see who brings the drama."

"I'd like to see you try and take me on, Weasley," he sneered, so perfectly in character that even Ginny was almost fooled.

Suddenly, she sensed someone behind her and whirled around to find none other than Harry had come to her "defense." Of course.

Harry tugged at her arm. "Leave it, Gin. Come on, let's just go." Ginny pulled her arm away, annoyed.

"Get _off_ me, Harry. Honestly, does no one think I can handle myself?" she glared.

Harry took a step back and held up his hands in surrender. Ginny immediately felt guilty. After all, Harry didn't really know what was going on. He thought he was helping. It was sweet, in an endearingly misguided sort of way.

"Sorry," she said hastily. "I...I should go cool off." She sent a pointed look at Zabini and stalked out of the Hall, not caring about the stares and whispers that followed her.

...

"I still can't believe you actually _told_ Pansy about us!" Ginny fumed, pacing inside the Room of Requirement. "You didn't even consult me first! How dare you!"

Blaise's lip curled up in a smirk. "I'm the daringest devil you've ever met, love."

"Why would you tell her?" Ginny demanded, trying to ignore the fact that his facial expression was driving her mad with desire. He shouldn't have talked to Pansy. It wasn't any of her business, and besides, the whole _school_ wasn't supposed to know—_no one_ was!—and they certainly would now.

"Because I wanted to?" Blaise looked supremely unconcerned, which irked Ginny even more.

"That's hardly a good enough reason," she said hotly. "I don't think I've ever been so insulted—Pansy implied that I was a _lapdog_!"

Blaise gathered her up in his arms. "I'm sorry, Gin. I thought you liked the big scenes, the attention—"

"I only want _your_ attention and you know it, Blaise," she pouted, trying to wriggle free.

"But just the other day, you said you wished more people knew about us," he murmured in her ear, causing her to tremble slightly.

Her resolve was slowly crumbling. She never could stay mad at him for long. With a long-suffering sigh, she said, "I did say that, yes, but this isn't exactly how I thought we'd go about telling people."

Blaise nuzzled her neck and she groaned, letting her head fall back. "Well, now that the band-aid has been ripped off," he whispered, "maybe we can stop hiding."

Ginny's eyes, which had closed, flew open. She looked at Blaise in alarm. "'Stop hiding'? I'm sorry, have you _met _Ron? We can't carry on in front of him, he'll kill us both!"

"Is that what you call this?" Blaise inquired, lazily running his fingers over her arms. "'Carrying on'?"

"No," she said breathlessly. "No, of course not, Blaise." She managed to twist around, her arms snaking behind his neck to pull his face towards her own. She was going to show him just how much she regretted that choice of words.

Their lips crashed together with a searing intensity that made her gasp and him moan. Ginny ran her tongue along his bottom lip, seeking entrance which was soon granted. As their tongues continued to battle for dominance, she reached up and started to loosen his tie.

Blaise paused. "Does this mean you forgive me?" he asked, his voice silky.

Ginny nodded. She would find a way to distract Pansy and the rest of the school—she didn't hang around Parvati for nothing, that girl had her own pulse on the Hogwarts grapevine—from the salacious "news" of her relationship. Knowing how quickly students moved on, they would be over it in a week, maybe less.

Any further thoughts were completely forgotten as Blaise resumed kissing her, and she melted into his embrace, determined to savor every last moment. _This_ was the Blaise she had fallen for, and although their relationship was at times rocky and unconventional and even a little dramatic, she couldn't imagine her life without him.

* * *

Word count: 1,170

_A/N: I hate this, lol, but I finished all the prompts, so ha! (Seriously, though, I spent far too long trying to figure out how to justify a relationship that, the way I depicted it, is really not super healthy. Yikes. Hopefully no one reads this and actually thinks that it sounds like a good relationship.)_

* * *

**_Ending thoughts:_**

_Wow. What a month. I wrote...so much. I'm not happy with every single thing I posted, but I'm also really, REALLY proud that I left my comfort zone MANY times. I wrote sooooo many characters and pairings that I hadn't before, and even tried my hand at some AUs! Basically, I had a lot of fun and in time, I'll only become an even better writer. Thanks for coming along on this journey with me. :) _


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